Deceiver
by Silverr
Summary: Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider serves the demon lord Kil'jaeden the Deceiver. But Kil'jaeden is not the only one skilled at deception. **An alternate narrative, from Kael's student days in Dalaran to his 'residence' in Magister's Terrace.** Ch. 11: After helping — and hindering — the kaldorei visitors, Kael's interaction with the stranded naga provoke harsh responses from Garithos.
1. The Assembly Chamber (Selin) 1

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: As a band of adventurers begin an assault on Magister's Terrace, Prince Kael'thas recalls halcyon days on Sunstrider Isle._

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><p><strong>Deceiver<br>**

_by silverr_

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><p>.<p>

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**Prologue**

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I saw you arrive, you know. Bowing and scraping to those smug, self-righteous traitors. Shattered Sun, indeed – they'll learn soon enough who shatters, and who does not.

And you – let me guess. You agreed to do whatever they asked you to do? without noticing that they gave you the menial, dangerous work? sent you to gather resources for their defenses while they stayed safe in their round little boxes?

And now they've sent you up here to kill me. Please don't tell me that all it took to acquire your obedience, to convince you to risk your life, was a little flash of gold? A few glittering gems? Disappointing, but hardly surprising: as well I know, greed and envy and ignorance and selfishness drive most of the world. I don't expect you to understand that, of course, not with your nearly-empty head echoing with dull watery dregs, and so I'll make it simple. _It's not altruism if you seek applause. It's not idealism if you've been told what to think. It's not loyalty if your services have been bought._

Yes, I knew you wouldn't like hearing these things: children never enjoy being chided. Still, I am certain that deep down you must know that it doesn't take courage to break into my sanctuary and attack those whose only crime is that they have been faithful to me.

Learn something from them, if you can, from my beautiful, strong people, as you see how fiercely they protect me. My Dawnblades, like my Sunfuries, are the face of true idealism, true loyalty. I've never bought their love. They give it – and their lives – freely.

So swagger all you want as you tread on their corpses, and know this: even if you are able to vanquish me, here, today, you can never destroy my legacy. In a thousand years the poets and historians will write, not of Kael'thas the Tyrant, or Kael'thas the Traitor, but of Kael'thas the Beloved, the Savior of his people.

_Anu belore dela'na._

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><p><em>.<em>

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~ :|1|: ~

_"Don't look so smug..."_

_._

How noble.

Five of you ambushing and slaughtering my Sunblades — and then shamelessly applauding yourselves, applauding a "victory" that came about because the odds were in your favor from the start.

And now... I know what you've glimpsed just inside my sanctuary. I know you — like all the others that have come here before you — will claim you're doing them a kindness by ending their misery, but I hear and see you as you lure them out to their deaths. Contempt and mockery and disgust. You think yourself superior, even heroic, and that they — that _I _— are aberrations, monsters that deserve to be put down?

Your tiny souls and parochial minds can never grasp that _true _heroism is continuing to fight on, even when you're outnumbered, even after you've been weakened by betrayal, even when everything and everyone seeks to destroy you. You look at them and choose to forget that the _quel'dorei_ weren't always thus, that even the most wretched were once proud, noble, beautiful children of the sun...

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As had been the tradition for thousands of years, the Ancestor's Day celebration concluded with a grand feast in the open air, and so the throngs of high elves gathered on Sunstrider Isle had spread brocade coverlets on the lawns and seated themselves on embroidered pillows. As always, the blessed light of Quel'Thalas transformed everyone and everything it touched, making colors more vibrant, conversation and laughter more musical, and the perfume of flowers sweeter. Above all, the gilded towers of the royal palace glowed, resplendent.

Some distance from the festivities, two princes stood in the quiet of Dath'Remar's Grove. Self-confident, high-minded, with a unshakeable resolve to serve their kingdom, they embodied the virtues of the Sunstrider line.

"So you've said your goodbyes?" Eldin asked, glancing toward the spire.

Kael'thas nodded. "Those that could be said."

"Did you —"

"No, I was told he's locked himself in his chambers and has told the guards not to admit anyone." Kael'thas kept his eyes fixed on the epitaph of the monument.

_Here stands the shrine of_ _Dath'Remar, a fitting tribute to a noble elf. Let all who gaze on this monument remember his sacrifices for our people and his dedication to the cause of our continued survival. All who prosper in Quel'Thalas do so thanks to him. _

"How strange," Eldin said. "He hasn't done that since — "

Once again Kael cut off his brother's words. "It's likely that he's caught up in some far more pressing matter," he said firmly. "and it would be disrespectful of me to interrupt him. Besides, it's not as if I'm going to Kalimdor." He glanced at Eldin, who was frowning. "Really, it's fine. My absence will hardly be noticed."

"It'll be noticed by me!" Eldin said, suddenly smiling as he clapped his hand on Kael's shoulder. "With you in Dalaran I'm going to have to find someone else to represent House Sunstrider at Convocation meetings!"

Kael forced himself to smile. "There are quite a few Sunstrider victims left for you to choose from."

"But none so gullible as you," Eldin laughed, then shook Kael's shoulder gently. "What is this false cheer? You are about to embark on a grand adventure!"

"Adventure? Hardly," Kael demurred. "Translations and research." Still, he was pleased. Most of his people considered elven magic and culture so superior to all else that they assumed he was leaving Quel'Thalas for Dalaran to apprentice with Magistrix Telestra — which was certainly part of it, she had been Nall's teacher and Aertin's peer and was considered one of the best living wielders of the arcane — but Eldin was one of the very few who knew the real reason Kael was leaving was to apply to the Kirin Tor, an organization that studied _human _magic. Eldin truly understood and supported his excitement about the opportunity to study non-elven cultures and non-arcane magic.

It was an excitement Kael was generally careful to conceal. Despite hundreds of years of evidence to the contrary, most of the court still saw humans in general — and the Kirin Tor in particular — as little more than children, aping their betters and recklessly manipulating forces beyond their comprehension. It was an attitude he couldn't abide, but he had, after all, learned diplomacy from an early age, and so he pretended not to be offended by those that treated his move to Dalaran as if it was nothing more than an amusing diversion, the whim of a bored scholar. That view, at least, was preferable to those who accused him of exposing the Sunstrider name to ridicule and humiliation by shunning his homeland, or those who viewed his choice to live in a human city as an implied criticism of his father Anasterian's centuries-old reluctance to actively participate in the Alliance. Malicious gossip that saw intent where there was none. He'd once overheard someone accusing him of "attacking a throne he knows he'll never achieve!" How could they misjudge him so? He had no desire to rule.

"Translations and research?" Eldin laughed. "For me such a life would be torture." A breeze stirred the grove, shaking thousands of leaves as if in applause. "Learn quickly, little brother, for when I'm crowned I will require you by my side to advise me. And I _will _have you by my side, even if I have to invade Dalaran and bind you in chains to drag you away from your books."

Kael smiled faintly. "The Kirin Tor won't look very kindly on that."

"They'll have to learn to survive without you."

"I appreciate the sentiment," Kael said. "but I'm a much better scholar than a warrior — and magical knowledge won't help you rule the kingdom."

"I disagree," Eldin replied. "By the time I'm king you'll have _twenty_ times the understanding of our human neighbors than anyone else in Silvermoon. And as for magic — well, considering that magic protects and defends the kingdom, you will be more than essential, I assure you." Eldin's face became uncharacteristically somber. "By the way, I heard some disturbing —"

"There you are!" A flurry of admirers surrounded them. "You're missing the festivities, Eldin!"

"Gently, gently," he said, "There's enough of me for everyone." He lifted a eyebrow at Kael. "Coming?"

"In a moment." Kael had never cared for crowds or socializing, an aversion that had intensified since his mother's death. He hadn't been able to admit even to Eldin that some of the appeal of Dalaran was that his work for the Kirin Tor was likely to require long hours alone in the libraries and arcane storehouses. He was looking forward to the luxury of silence.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a touch on his arm. Thalorien and Lana'thel.

"We grieve for your losses," Thalorien said quietly.

Kael nodded. "Thank you."

As they turned to go Kael found himself following. They walked to where a huge tapestry of red and gold had been spread on the lawn. Eldin sat at one corner, already surrounded by those who were investing in their futures by befriending a potential king. Kael supposed that he ought not to think that way. His brother was happiest in the center of a group: what did it matter if most of the group were sycophants?

"It's true!" Telonicus was saying, apparently half-affronted. "You'll see! One day machines will accomplish everything that magic can, and more easily."

"Good news, brother!" Eldin said with a laugh. "You can throw away your spell-books! Telonicus is going to build machines to do everything!"

Kael forced himself to smile. Eldin loved the spotlight so much it never occurred to him that others might not be as fond. "There would be great benefit in allowing such inventions to take over menial tasks," he said. "It would allow us to reserve arcane energy for higher pursuits."

"Forget higher pursuits," said an elder who was frowning at a blushing, dark-haired child awkwardly refilling the wine goblets. "If machines merely replaced the _incompetent _I'd consider it a great service."

The child, stricken, almost tripped as he hurried away.

"I heard his mother petitioned to allow him to squire for Vranesh the Elder!" the elder said. "Can you _imagine_? Someone like _that _attempting to associate with a noble-born?"

"It's not unheard of," Kael began. "Dath'Remar himself had—"

"Oh, kill me now! Not _another _Dath'Remar story!" said a narrow-faced magister, pretending to faint. He was caught by the Farstrider sitting next to him — who had, with a typical Rangers' ostentatious disdain for the luxuries of court, seated himself on the grass rather than the tapestry.

Kael tamped down his irritation. "Well, of course it's hardly my intention to bore anyone, but it is, after all, Ancestors' Day. When better to remember such stories?"

"You have to realize, Dar," Eldin added, "a house as old as ours has accumulated quite a few stories over the millennia. Unless we take them out and shake the dust out and polish them up now and again they'll tarnish and decay."

It was apparent from the magister's expression that he was taking Eldin's comment as a subtle jab at House Drathir — which had been ennobled for less than a century — but he spread his hands and said with false graciousness, "But of course. Please continue."

Kael decided to forgo the Dath'remar story, however, and the silence began to drag on until Kaendris asked, "Have you heard Voren'thal's latest?"

"Voren'thal? The poet?" Eldin leaned to take an apple from the tray, but Seyla, laughing, darted her hand in under his, snatched the apple, and said, "Allow _me_." She pulled a tiny ornamental dagger from the bosom of her gown.

Eldin winked at Kael. "How could I _not _adore such a dangerous creature?"

Kaendris, apparently miffed that flirting had interrupted his story, said, "Some say he's gifted."

"Not much of a gift," someone scoffed. "if nothing he's ever predicted has come true."

"He says the same thing every year," someone laughed. "Obviously he's hoping someday events will occur that make his ramblings true."

"What does he say?" Kael asked, curious. He'd not heard about the prophesying: he'd read some of Voren'thal's poetry years before, and hadn't been impressed.

"Something about _'a pall, red and white and black, settling over the gold and green of Quel'Thalas' forests,' " _Theron said.

Drathir scoffed. "So ridiculously vague it could apply to a hundred different things."

Seyla, who had used her dagger to score Eldin's apple, pulled the halves apart — and then dropped them with a cry.

A red and white striped mass uncoiled from the hollow center of the apple, oozing black from where the blade had cut it.

"Ugh, is that a worm?" Jurion asked, making a face.

"No," Theron said, picking it up. "It's a snake." He held the dying creature over the grass and crushed its head between his thumb and forefinger, then stood and carried it toward the forest.

"Must you always be so barbaric?" Drathir called after him. "One of us could have burned it to ash."

"No need," Theron said without turning around. He squatted next to a tree and appeared to be burying the snake in its roots.

"Well, there you go!" Drathir said to Eldin. "We just saw the prophecy fulfilled: the apple's skin was green, and the snake was red and white."

"With black entrails!" Telonicus added.

A few people laughed uneasily.

"I'm so sorry!" Seyla was almost crying.

"Not your fault, my love," Eldin said lightly, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, and then standing. "Please excuse us — my brother and I must make the rounds. We can't appear to choose favorites."

"But we _are _your favorites!" Thalorien said.

Eldin smiled, then turned to Kael. "Shall we?"

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At every pavilion, at every grouping, the people displayed such genuine admiration and affection for Eldin that Kael swelled with pride. What a superb king Eldin would make someday ... whenever Anasterian saw fit to pass the crown to him.

"What do you make of that prophecy?" Eldin asked after they had left the Astromancer's Pavilion.

Kael shrugged. "It's as the others said. Such ambiguous words can be be wrapped around almost any event."

"You don't think it foreshadows some great calamity?"

"Calamity?" Kael started to laugh, but when he glanced at Eldin he realized that the question had been in earnest. "Why, what do _you _think it means?"

"A death," Eldin said, looking uncharacteristically serious.

"Oh, that's —"

"Promise me you'll keep yourself safe in Dalaran?"

"Eldin, there's no — "

"If something happens, I need your word that you'll come back to help lead our people."

Kael felt a wave of dread wash over him, but it was quickly gone. "You have my word."

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As Kael entered the portal chamber the next morning — he was leaving for Dalaran at last, he was buoyant with excited happiness — a black-haired child was waiting.

"Your highness," he said as Kael approached. "I was asked to deliver this to you before you left." He held out a scroll, magically sealed with the Sunstrider insignia.

"Thank you." Kael remembered the boy: he was the one who had been humiliated while serving wine. "You're going to be a squire?"

"No, your highness," he mumbled, dipping his head.

"No?" Kael asked as he slipped the scroll into his pocket. "You don't _want _to be Vranesh's squire?"

"I mean, no, it's not going to happen."

"And why not?"

"My mother's first husband was Vranesh's uncle. My father was her second husband."

"I see." A friendlier Champion most likely would have been more accommodating of the request — coming as it did from his uncle's former widow — and more loosely interpreted the tradition that a squire be related to the Champion though active family ties, but the elder Vranesh was well-known for his inflexibility regarding the old ways.

The boy nodded.

"Well," Kael said, "would a word from me help your cause?"

"Oh yes!" The black-haired boy knelt and then bowed, his head almost touching the floor. "I could _never _dream of asking for such a boon!"

"You _did _not ask," Kael said, amused by the child's effusiveness. "I am offering. Your name?"

"Fireheart," the boy said as he stood. His face was red with embarrassment. "Selin Fireheart."

"Fireheart. A good name," Kael said, moving past the boy to the portal. "I will write to Vranesh. You must understand that I cannot command him to take you as his squire, but I will strongly suggest he re-consider his decision to refuse you."

Selin, his face radiant with happiness, said, "Thank you!"

"Is there anything else?"

Selin gestured at the scroll in Kael's pocket. "Please, your highness, I was asked to tell you to read that before you left. And to wait in case you had a reply."

"I see." Kael dispersed the sigil and opened the scroll.

Unsigned, the words appeared to be Anasterian's, although the handwriting was Eldin's. _I trust you will comport yourself with dignity and academic distinction,_ the message began, _as your brother Nallorath did before you, and relay to us any information about the long-term plans of our former allies you feel is relevant to the safety and prosperity of Quel'Thalas._

"You can go," Kael told Selin. "There is no reply."

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_~ Next chapter: Kael in Dalaran ~_

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><p>.<p>

When I came back to work on this story in March 2014 two years after posting the prologue (the story as a whole was conceived in 2007 as I did the Warden's Cage quests in Shadowmoon Valley), rumor was that Mickey Nielson had an official "villain story" for Kael'thas in process. Knowing that whatever I concocted would be jossed at some point didn't deter me, however, because for me a primary pleasure of writing fanfiction is the challenge of creating a story arc that passes through as much of a character's canonical behavior (and as many canonical events) as possible. In a way it's like a game of connect the dots. ~ For Kael, those dots are the following: a) He was a member of the Six by the time of the Second War; b) he unsuccessfully wooed Jaina Proudmoore; c) he objected to Nathanos Marris' induction into the Rangers; d) he was opposed to the orc internment camps; e) he teamed up with Illidan; and f) he ultimately became the servant of Kil'jaeden. ~ I've identified these facts and workled out my timelines using currently-available information from wowpedia-based research and lore columnists (although I've chosen not to read the _Arthas_ novel or anything (other than _Blood of the Highborne_) that Blizzard has published since 2009 until this story is completed). ~ I've also treated certain Burning Crusade quests and game encounters as valid source material, along with characters, events, and information from the Warcraft RTS games, various Warcraft short stories and graphic novels, and the RPG manuals. Some of these are considered semi- or non-canonical, but they're still part of the Warcraft universe. ~ Where canon was vague or undeveloped, I charged in and made things up. I think I've done a pretty good job with Kael—I've certainly had a lot of fun along with the inevitable frustration—and I look forward to seeing how Mickey will interpret and connect the same dots I worked with. ~ For more author's notes and ramblings about the writing process see my Dreamwidth, and please feel free to drop a comment there if you have any questions about why I've done what I've done.

And now for the acknowledgements! _Deceiver_ wouldn't have been possible without **Wanda von Dunayev.** Wanda was an articulate and knowledgeable guide over the years of this story's gestation: without our lengthy discussions of plot and lore my determination to create my own version of Kael'thas would have died years ago. Wanda was also the source of several ideas developed here (such as Eldin), and pointed me to various facts that became diving boards (such as the fact that the Dungeon Journal entry for Grand Magus Telestra mentions Kael'thas). More recently **Bryn** has been an excellent sounding board and beta reader, and has several times reminded me of minor characters that deserved a place in the story. ~ I also must to thank **Bluerose,** whose excellently-edited audio track for the video of SK Gaming's world first Kil'jaeden takedown has been my "pilot light" for years: every time I hear it, it refreshes my memories of the fun I had playing in the WoW universe during the Burning Crusade expansion

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(01) 15 March 2012; end notes rev. 7 May 2015


	2. The Assembly Chamber (Selin) 2

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: As the attack on Selin Fireheart begins, Kael'thas reminisces about his early years in Dalaran as a new member of the Kirin Tor._

Author's note: The Dalaran which currently hovers over Crystalsong Forest in Northrend is the version of Dalaran built after being destroyed by Archimonde during the Third War. The original location of the city of Dalaran was on the shore of Lordamere Lake in Hillsbrad. Originally built 2800 years before the First War, it was damaged during the Second War (and subsequently repaired using an artifact called the Eye of Dalaran).

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 2: The Assembly Chamber (Selin Fireheart), Part II<em><br>_**

__by silverr__

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><p><em>.<em>

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~ : |2| : ~

_"You only waste my time!"_

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Surprised you, didn't he?

You thought Selin was helpless, didn't you? Thought his very life was being drained by those green crystals, and that he would thus be easily controlled and defeated?

I could say: _Things are not always as they seem._

I could say: _Jumping to conclusions too quickly can be dangerous._

I could say: _The view ahead is always hazy: life rarely turns out the way you imagine it will when you are young._

Clearly, those are lessons that you self-styled heroes must learn first-hand...

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In retrospect, he had been wrong about Dalaran: almost every aspect of his years there was different than he had imagined it would be.

The first surprise came moments after he arrived. The Kirin Tor representative who met him, a stern bearded human named Gimnar, took him to an apartment in one of the city's towers. Luxuriously furnished, the sitting room, like the sleeping and ablution room, was empty.

"Am I to wait for her here?" Kael asked.

"Wait for who?" Gimnar was carefully polite.

"Magna Telestra. Is this not where she lives?"

"No." Gimnar looked shocked and disapproving.

"Forgive me," Kael said quickly. "In Silvermoon apprentices usually live with their masters, but of course this is not Silvermoon."

"No." Gimnar held out an envelope stamped with the symbol of the Kirin Tor. "Welcome to Dalaran, Prince Kael'thas. Come to the Violet Citadel once you have settled in. And call on any of us — or any Dalaran citizen — if there is anything you need."

"Of course. Thank you."

Once Gimnar had gone Kael opened the letter, which welcomed him as honored member of the Kirin Tor.

"How interesting," he murmured. "I've already been accepted before proving my expertise?"

In Dalaran less than a quarter of an hour, and he had already learned that the humans did things very differently.

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After putting away the few things he'd brought with him, he took off the heavy red and gold embroidered Sunstrider regalia and put on the drab, almost threadbare brown and purple Kirin Tor wizard's robe that Eldin had jokingly given him as a gift. Such a simple action, and yet it felt so marvelously symbolic!

Once he had descended to the street he just stood for a moment, looking and listening and breathing deep. The sunlight seemed different than Quel'Thalas', much more silver than gold, and the air had a bracing crispness that sharpened his senses. He'd traveled outside Quel'Thalas before, but somehow knowing that this was his home now made everything seem exciting and new. Even the familiar _quel'dorei_ architecture was transformed by the proximity of so many non-elven faces. Best of all, when people walked around him — or even bumped into him — they did so as if he was simply a student of magic no different than any other in the city. It was exhilarating: for the first time in his life, he was free of the burden of being a Sunstrider prince.

There was a flower seller nearby, and as he bought a bouquet of ivy and Arathi amaryllis he asked — remembering to use Common rather than Thalassian — where Magna Telestra resided.

With a strange smile, the flower seller pointed to one of the city's taller towers, said that Telestra lived on the top floor, and wished him luck.

It seemed an odd thing to say, but Kael supposed it was just a quirk of the idiom.

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"Kael'thas!" Telestra said as she opened the door. "I had no idea you were arriving today!"

"And I had no idea that I wouldn't be living with you," he said, handing her the bouquet with a bow. "I gather that's not done here?"

Telestra laughed. "Oh no no, they're _far _too worried about master and apprentice falling into bed. Apparently they believe assigning separate living quarters makes that entirely impossible."

"Which makes humans either very advanced, or very naive."

Telestra laughed. "And they say your brother Eldin is the witty one."

As Telestra arranged the flowers in a vase Kael glanced around the room. No wonder the Kirin Tor had given him his own accommodations! Telestra's quarters were less than half the size of his own; with only a tiny alcove for ablutions and a narrow daybed that looked barely large enough for one, it seemed more a well-furnished prison cell than the living space of an honored magistrix. "How do you tolerate such a small living space?"

"It suits me," she said, turning to him with a smile. "I'm rarely bothered by city noises, and the view of the lake is spectacular. Now, sit down," she said. "I want to hear everything that's been happening."

"Of course," he said, "but first I must thank for you for this." He held up the letter from the Kirin Tor. "Though I _am _surprised they let you talk them into accepting me without a demonstration of what I've learned."

"What?" Puzzled, she took the letter; as she read, her face pulled briefly into a surprised scowl. "Those—!" She clenched a fist, then composed herself.

"Is something wrong?"

"I should have seen it coming." She handed the letter back to him. "They're going to try to prevent you from having contact with me."

"Where does it say that?" Kael asked, re-reading to see what subtlety he had missed. "Is this another inexplicable human custom?"

"I know how to read between the lines," Telestra said. "By rescinding your need for an apprenticeship, they are indirectly saying that you have no need to train with me." There was a snap of bitterness in her voice.

"They've simply made a mistake, then," Kael said. "Of course I do! I've just recently chosen my specializations, and I haven't yet completed my training in the other schools of magic. I don't understand why they would want to prevent it! Does someone in Kirin Tor bear me ill-will?"

"This is a strike at me, not you," she said matter-of-factly. "I have enemies. A few dislike me because I am an elf, a few because I am a woman, but most because I've always spoken up when when I don't agree with Kirin Tor policies and practices. Obviously they're worried that I'll turn you against them."

"But that's ridiculous!" he said, half laughing. "Dalaran is a center of learning and research — you make it sound as bad as the royal court."

"And you expected it to be different?"

He sat on Telestra's couch, crestfallen. "Yes. I did."

She sat next to him and patted his shoulder. "Come now, there's no need to be so disappointed: I assure you, most of the Kirin Tor are simply harmless scholars. But you're not naive, Kael'thas: you know that wherever there is a concentration of power, there is maneuvering and intrigue. Your father has been cooling toward the humans since the day Thoradin died, and they know it. The Kirin Tor see you as their opportunity to remedy that; if they can nurture your goodwill, they hope you'll convince your father — or whoever succeeds him — to shore up the alliance."

"I suppose that's understandable," Kael said, "and I admit I did look forward to being an informal ambassador. However, I don't see what is accomplished by interfering with my training." He was angry, not just because of what Telestra was telling him, but also because of Anasterian's request to send back reports on the humans. So ironic: he'd left Silvermoon because he'd wanted to be on his own somewhere quiet, far from turmoil and scrutiny, and it seemed that Dalaran was going to put him front and center. He folded his arms. "In fact, I'm thinking I ought to be insulted that that they think they can flatter and bribe me into doing their bidding."

"I know you don't want to hear this, but the human world, human society, is fundamentally no different than our own." Telestra said as she went to her sideboard and opened a bottle of wine. "Whether you like it or not," she said, "being a Sunstrider means you will _always _be treated differently, no matter _where _you go. There is no way you'll ever be allowed to blend unnoticed into the crowd." She came back to the couch with two glasses. "Now, let's stop this gloomy discussion so that we can toast the newest member of the Kirin Tor."

He took the glass Telestra held out. "You're right. It's just that ... I wanted to _earn _my place in the Kirin Tor. Earn their respect through my skill. It's disappointing to have it handed to me. It cheapens it."

"Your idealism is admirable," she said, "but don't let it blind you to possibilities. In this case, it's more important what you do with the position you've been given than how you came by it."

"I respectfully disagree, Magna," he said, drinking the wine off in a gulp. It was strong, instantly warming his blood. "What good is power if the acquisition requires a compromise of principles?"

"Wisdom is knowing which principles apply to a situation, and which do not," she said, bringing the bottle to refill his glass.

"And which apply here?" he asked.

"I know you came here to learn about magic and not to engage in byzantine maneuverings, but in a city ruled by mages, you _must _do both. Do both _well_, and you'll be one of the Six in no time."

"The Six?"

"They're the real power in this city," Telestra said as she sat down. "But one step at a time. For now, let me tell you how I see the situation, and what I think your options are."

"Fair enough."

"The Kirin Tor are in a delicate position," she said. "They want to be able to take advantage of your royal connections and nudge you in the direction they wish, but this will require a light hand in order not to antagonize you." She sipped her wine. "They will know soon — if they don't already — that you have talked to me. Don't volunteer the information — but if they ask, don't lie to them."

Kael nodded.

"As I see it, there are two approaches you can take. The first is to remind them that you might one day be High King of Quel'Thalas. Tell them that you know what they were attempting to do, assure them that you are sympathetic to their cause, but state firmly that you will not tolerate being manipulated. Finally, tell them that you intend to become my apprentice." She added, "Make it clear that I am under your protection."

"That would be a reasonable course of action," Kael said, "except that surely they must know that I, along with most of the kingdom, support Eldin as my father's successor?"

"That is irrelevant," she said. "An assertive show of strength will let them know that they have seriously underestimated you. Unfortunately, it will also put them on their guard, and make them much more devious."

"And the alternative?"

"The alternative is more subtle. Rather than potential king, be the scholar-prince. Show them that you're pleased that they have accepted you into their brotherhood, accept any reasonable restrictions they impose, and give them just enough of what they ask for to keep them happy."

"And my training?"

"We'll forgo it for a few decades until they've been lulled into thinking of you as their loyal, obedient pet."

"Why would I use such trickery?"

"Because it's sometimes possible for a pawn to take out the most powerful piece on the board."

"I refuse to be anyone's pawn." _Even yours, Magna_, he thought.

"Well, let's put such discussions aside and have dinner, shall we?"

.

Telestra was a good as her word: after bringing back a small feast from a nearby inn — "It's nice to eat something non-conjured now and again" — they discussed elven art and architecture, magical theory, how reluctant Anasterian seemed to be to relinquish the crown, the competition of various families to join the Silvermoon rolls, the personalities of the current members of the Convocation, and the various romances among his friends at court. That Telestra was so eager for even the most trivial news suggested that she had little regular contact with anyone in Silvermoon; if it was also true that she was ostracized by the Kirin Tor — which didn't make sense, she had been in Dalaran since its founding, teaching magic to human and elf alike — then her life must be a lonely one.

"Magna," he asked. "Are you happy here?" It was late: evening had turned to night, the faint city noises had given way to the occasional hooting of owls, and the breeze that came through the open window was chill.

She shrugged.

"Why don't you return to Quel'Thalas?"

"I cannot."

"Why not?"

"It is not something I will discuss with you." It was like a heavy door slamming shut.

"My apologies," he said quickly, and then, wanting to move past the painful silence, asked, "What if I took a middle ground between aggression and meekness? If I don't tell the Kirin Tor that I'm meeting with you, won't they look the other way if they find out?"

"Perhaps," Telestra said thoughtfully. She went to the window and began closing the shutters. "If you're careful not to visit too often, I suppose there's a chance that the more reasonable archmages will convince the others it's an acceptable transgression for someone accustomed to the freedoms of royal privilege."

"So it's settled then!" Kael chuckled as he poured out the last of the wine. "I don't mean to sound disrespectful, Magna, but you made it sound as though they'd send assassins after me!"

"Don't underestimate them," she warned. "More than one person who has gone against them has mysteriously disappeared ... still, I doubt you're in danger. You're far too valuable." She finished latching the shutters and turned from the window. "Teleporting here and back will be good transmutation practice for you."

"Teleporting? That seems excessive."

"Take my word for it, you _will _be watched," she said. "Visiting me openly won't go unnoticed."

"I'll say that you're an old friend of the family."

Telestra laughed. "Well, that at least is true." She clicked her fingers to light the room's lamps, then came to sit next to him. "You do know what the gossips will say, don't you?"

"No," he said. "Say about what?"

"I have quite a reputation as a lecherous old magistrix," she said. "If no one knows you're my apprentice, they'll assume I've taken you as my new lover." She reached out and playfully tugged a strand of his hair.

"A new — they'll think _I'm_ ..._?"_ Part of him was shocked: another part coolly admitted that it was entirely believable, for although Telestra had to be nearly as old as his father, she certainly didn't look it. Probably was using subtle glamors to mask her age.

"I assure you," she said, playfulness gone, "although everyone in Dalaran will pretend not to know about your 'liaison' with me, it won't take long before Silvermoon is abuzz."

"My brother knew I planned to study with you, so he'll thwart any rumors. As to what anyone else thinks," Kael'thas said, feeling rebellious, "why should I care? Where I take comfort is no one's concern. "

Telestra regarded him fondly. "You certainly are a Sunstrider through and through. Soul of fire and silver-tongued and stubborn to the core. Just like your father."

He had never felt so honored.

.

Telestra had assured him that, other than necromancy, the Kirin Tor were likely to encourage him to pursue anything he liked. Curious to see how much truth was in this claim, when he presented himself at the Violet Citadel the next morning and was asked by the dark-haired human female who met him — she had introduced herself in surprisingly passable Thalassian as Magus Ramalket — what sort of work he wanted to do, he had replied, "I'll do anything that needs doing." As this seemed to be an answer for which Ramalket was not quite prepared, he then said, "Abjuration and enchantment."

"Oh?" Ramalket looked surprised. "Enchantment? Any weapon class in particular you prefer to work with?"

"No," he said. "I've had the most experience with swords and staves, but I've worked with bows and daggers as well." Despite all Telestra's warnings about the Kirin Tor's secret agenda he couldn't help but warm to the topic. "I've done some swordsmithing as well, if that's useful."

"Oh, yes, absolutely," Ramalket said. "As you can imagine, most of the time the items we receive are too badly battle-damaged to warrant repair, but we're chronically short of enchanters experienced enough to salvage anything useful from them."

Kael nodded. "I've been developing some new techniques for that."

"Oh, don't say that," Ramalket said with a wink. "I might have to chain you to the table in the weapons vault and never let you go."

"Threats already? It's my first day!"

"I can't help it," she countered, laughing. "_Make threat_ is on the checklist for new members."

An elderly gnome perusing the contents of a nearby bookcase turned and glared at her, and she said more quietly, "Would you be willing to work with shields? Or maces? Or axes?"

"Of course."

"Excellent," Ramalket said. "Follow me."

As they descended a spiraling staircase Ramalket said, "I should warn you, we have three vaults packed with items awaiting salvage. The archeologists have been busy with new sites in Tanaris and Northrend, and the number of axes and maces they're unearthing ... well, I'm not exaggerating when I say we could probably use them to build a bulwark around the entire city." She unlocked a door in the narrow corridor at the bottom of the stairs, opened it, then conjured a handful of small floating light-spheres.

The vault was indeed "packed" with weapons: piled waist high, with only four narrow paths dividing the room into quadrants. Kael stooped to pick up a broken sword, cast a quick warding spell on himself and Ramalket, and then ran his fingertips along the flat of the blade: residual blood magic, most likely a life-draining enchantment.

"Now, I won't blame you if you want to re-think your offer after a few days and do something else," she said, distributing the light-spheres throughout the vault. "Most initiates find salvage boring."

"Nothing is boring if you look at it from the proper perspective."

"True."

He set the axe down and took up a mace. A tenth as heavy as it should have been for its size, in that peculiar way that the weapons of Light-wielders tended to be. The head was cracked and burnt, as if whoever had used it had taken down many many demons and infernal beings before they dropped it at last.

Ramalket eyed him. "You're certainly not what I expected."

"Oh? Why not?" A curved edge caught his eye, polished and dark and filigreed with glinting silver-gray like lightning against a night sky. Pulling one of the light-spheres closer, he bent to retrieve it. He'd never before seen anything made of such material; the shard hummed against his palm as if alive. "This must have been an extraordinary weapon," he said. "How unfortunate that it's not intact."

Ramalket laughed; when he looked at her she said, "Sorry, I just can't imagine any of the human princes ..." She waved a hand, as if unsure of how to word her thoughts.

"Salvaging weapons?" Kael said. "I assume not many train as mages." He slipped the dark fragment into his pocket for further study.

"I don't think we've had _any,"_ Ramalket said. "Our kings and princes usually train as warriors. They don't like to stand at the back: they'd rather be up front where the action is."

Kael wondered if she'd meant this as a disparagement. "So do ours," he said carefully. "Which is why we train in physical combat as well as magical. My father wields both sword and staff."

"Yes, I've heard that," Ramalket said. "He must have been a formidable battle-mage."

"Yes," Kael said, "he is."

Ramalket bit her lip. "Oh, I didn't mean —"

"I took no offense," Kael said, easing another dark fragment from the pile.

"We have a few war-mages, but they don't usually lead the charge into battle," Ramalket said. "Sometimes paladins do, though usually only when —"

"When there is a crisis," Kael said, saving her from having to say _when the king has been slain_. "Well, I'd like to get started," he said. "Should I set up in here, or do you have a special place you'd like me to work?"

.

.


	3. The Assembly Chamber (Selin) 3

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: Kael'thas encounters a mystery and loses someone dear to him._

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 3: The Assembly Chamber (Selin Fireheart), Part III<strong>_  
><em>

__by silverr__

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><p><em>.<em>

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~ : |3| : ~

_My hunger knows no bounds! —_

.

.

Selin ... To hear him now you'd never guess how timid he was as a child; but then I suppose as we grow older most of us become more confident in asking for what we want. What makes Selin different is that his greatest wish has been ever-constant: to bask in the radiance of those more powerful than he.

I almost envy him. To see your goal so clearly that every action takes you unerringly closer; to reach for what you want without flinching, paying any price, damning every consequence. To rage against the prejudices and conventions that hold you back ...

.

.

And so it began. Day after day, weeks and months blurred into decades and then centuries. With Telestra's guidance he supplemented his magical knowledge, reading and practicing as much as he could on his own and only going to her when he had difficulties. At first he only visited her by teleporting directly to her room; but once he noticed that she was always alone he began instead to brazenly carry a bouquet of flowers or an ostentatiously-wrapped gift through the streets to her door, secretly delighted at the whispers he heard swirling in his wake. From time to time various Kirin Tor members would invite him to dinner, and very delicately dig for information ... to which he always answered, quite honestly, that he wasn't privy to Anasterian's inner thoughts. He visited Silvermoon regularly, of course, but began to notice as he never had before how the silver strands in his father's hair were crowding out the gold. He met the newest consort (he always felt sorry for her: she was perennially with child, but the children she bore were sickly, some living only a few hours). He put flowers on their graves, and his mother's, and sat reading in Dath'remar's grove. He was occasionally invited to banquet with his old Quel'Thalas acquaintances, although the number of such invitations dwindled more and more.

He mentioned this to Eldin.

"They're narrow-minded, judgmental prigs," Eldin said. "It's no wonder they can't think for themselves: there's barely half a brain between every ten of them."

"Judgmental? About what?"

"Your association with Telestra," Eldin said. "And I assure you, it wouldn't make a difference if you told them that you're not actually her lover. It's not what you two do in private, it's the fact that you associate with her at all." The last few words were garbled; Eldin winced, then took a small vial from his pocket and drank from it.

Kael, frowning, asked, "What aren't you telling me? Are you ill?"

Eldin shrugged and said hoarsely, "A sore throat that's lingered long enough to be annoying. Nothing serious." He tucked the vial back into his pocket. "There's always been a rumor that she was involved with father — but then, half the old grannies on the continent claim to have been to his bed, so I wouldn't give much weight to that particular story," he said. "Her defenders say she offered to go with Aertin and Nall to teach magic to the humans, but as this occurred not long after Anasterian announced that he was taking your mother as Second Consort — well, you know how the gossips are, they embroidered that as the flight of a discarded lover." He cleared his throat. "Personally, I think that the possibility that Telestra bore a half-elf son fathered by one of humans in Strom is what got her banished in perpetuity." He cleared his throat again. "From the look on your face I'm guessing this is the first you've heard of this?"

"I don't believe it," Kael said. "Any of it."

"Well, you know how people treat halflings," Eldin said. "Whether true or not, because of it Telestra's an outcast. You're becoming tainted by association."

"And what about you?" Kael asked. "Isn't my taint staining you as well?"

"Of course not," Eldin said. "I'm immune to stupidity."

.

That day when Kael stepped from the portal in Dalaran, he thought _It's good to be home._ In high spirits, he retrieved a book from his workroom, bought the flower-seller's rarest orchids, and then made his way to Telestra's.

To his surprise, she had a visitor, cowled and robed. The two were seated close, face to face; Telestra held the visitor's gloved hands.

"Oh!" Kael stopped in the doorway. "My apologies, Magna." He turned to go.

"Stay," the visitor said. It was a woman: her voice was deep, with a low, intimate timbre. "You've brought such beautiful flowers."

Kael felt his face reddening as it hadn't since he was a boy. Who was this woman?

Telestra said, "Don't do that to him," to the visitor, then nodded at Kael. "But do stay: she's leaving."

"I am?" the woman chuckled softly.

"You are," Telestra said. She stood, pulling the other woman to her feet, and they embraced.

The visitor held her cowl down, hiding her face, and took two long strides toward Kael, close enough to put her gloved hand on his chest.

The touch was electric, a surge of attraction so fierce that he wanted to take her in his arms and —

"Aegwynn!" Telestra warned. "I told you to stop that."

The mystery woman took her hand away. "Oh, don't worry, _shan'dor,"_ she said over her shoulder to Telestra. "I'm not planning to steal him." She made a grasping gesture with her hand. "See you soon!"

She disappeared.

Kael managed to remain standing as Telestra took the flowers and the book from him, then shakily lowered himself into the nearest chair. "Who was that?" What had she done to him? He felt as exhausted as if he had been battling for hours.

"A friend," Telestra said. "She needed someone to talk to." She set the flowers and the book aside.

"What did she mean, that she would see you soon?" Kael asked. "Will she be visiting again? Or are you going somewhere with her?"

"Don't pay attention to her mischief," Telestra said in the tone that meant that the previous topic was closed to further discussion. "You brought a frost magic book; did you have a question?"

"Yes," he said, well aware that he was several hundred years too old to sulk. "I can't seem to master anything but the shielding spells."

"Why does it matter?" Telestra tossed a handful of snowflakes across the room. "Frost doesn't suit you."

"But I want to master everything," he said.

"Come now," she said as a ring of ice exploded outward from her feet. "You know that's not necessary. What was the first fundamental principle of magic I taught you?"

"That the classifications and categories in common use are concepts created to make the study of magic easier for beginners," he said dutifully.

She conjured a small arcane sphere. "That's all the understanding you have? A single stale sentence?"

"No, of course not." He was surprised that Telestra was demanding that he review a basic magical concept he'd learned hundreds of years ago moments after she'd pronounced his difficulties with frost magic unimportant, but he trusted her: he was the student, she was the master. "All magic is fundamentally the same," he said. "That it appears as fire, frost, fel, nature, rune, or holy is a result of the entity channeling the magic, a natural extension of their personality, their strengths or weaknesses. How their spells manifest is determined by who they are, and amplified by the type of magic they're drawn to."

"Yes," she said, "no matter what the Kirin Tor wants the populace to believe, the truth is that magic is shaped far less by training than by the caster's fundamental nature — their soul, their spirit, their ruling deity, their motivation for using magic. Of course, if this became common knowledge the Kirin Tor would be out of business, and so they, like we, have encouraged the misconception that only a select few have access to magic."

Kael wondered where she was going with this.

"And yet," she continued, "no one seems to be asking why all around us those with no formal training are able to heal and shield their loved ones and sometimes even strike down enemies."

"Only under great duress —"

"It's as if we've forgotten that we're even using magic." She pointed her finger at the floor and made a swirling motion, creating a smoky pool of shadow.

"The gift of the Sunwell," Kael said, "the legacy of the Well of Eternity that our ancestors across the sea drew upon." The dark circle that Telestra had conjured tugged at him, as though trying to drain his energy. "Magic is woven into our flesh and blood."

Telestra shook her head. "I'm not so sure. I've come to believe that the Wells are more fuel than cause." She glanced at Kael. "By itself, a log does not initiate a fire: but if you have determination and a spark, you can coax it into giving you light and warmth."

"Are you saying," Kael asked, "that the Sunwell does not _give_ power, but rather allows it to be taken by anyone with the proper approach?"

"Something like that," Telestra said. "In my mind such an explanation better accounts for all magic users, from the humblest uneducated citizen to the most exalted archmages. The former are able to draw on the Sunwell's power — in a limited way, of course, and only in times of need — because they cherish their children and their homeland." She held her hand out over the whirlpool, and it shrank in itself until it disappeared.

"If that's true, untrained members of non-_quel'dorei_ races would be able to access low-level magic as well, as the impulse to protect one's children and one's lands is universal." Kael was finding the subject slightly distasteful.

"Of course it's true. Even the trolls have healers and evokers, which is hardly 'low-level' magic."

"You're not suggesting that the trolls are our equals?" Kael had never heard Telestra express such outlandish ideas before.

"Of course not. I think it's unlikely that they'll ever develop the same capacity to hear the music of the ley-lines as we do," Telestra said, "although I won't go so far as to say it's impossible." She quirked her mouth. "I told the Convocation as much once. What an uproar that caused!"

"I can imagine," Kael said. _No wonder you were banished,_ he thought, and immediately felt disloyal.

"I'll tell you why I don't think trolls will ever equal us in advanced magical matters — it's the same reason that the humans and dwarves won't. Their motivations are all wrong. They don't pursue mastery of magic because magic itself _delights_ them: most study it because they are driven by fear. For them magic is only a weapon to use against what threatens them, something to incapacitate an enemy so that they can run away. That's why the Kirin Tor focuses on frost, because it slows or freezes before it kills." Telestra snapped her fingers and was haloed in ice. "It's almost pathetic, how much most humans fear magic."

"They don't all seem that way," Kael said.

"True, but the few non-elven mages that _aren't_ afraid of magic crave the power it gives them over others, which is why those races tend to have a disproportionate number of necromantic and fel magic users."

Kael shook his head. "Have you shared these insights with the Kirin Tor?"

"Of course I did. Self-awareness brings clarity, and clarity is essential when studying the higher magics. I was doing them a service by pointing out truths and flaws they couldn't see for themselves."

"And," Kael said, "you did it because you enjoy goading them."

"Perhaps," Telestra admitted, summoning a swirling shield of flame that melted the ice.

"It's been a while since you pointed out _my_ flaws," Kael said, wanting to move to a less problemmatic topic. "I'm sure I have at least one or two areas that need improvement."

Telestra watched him for a few moments through the shimmering fire before she answered. "No, you are quite nearly perfect. That's why I was so disappointed at first that you were drawn to abjuring and enchantment rather than something more powerful, for I honestly felt you were wasting your potential."

Her reply made Kael feel as if he were a child of four hundred again. "I see."

"Now now, don't get sulky until you hear all that I have to say," Telestra chided. "I said I was disappointed _at first._ As I came to know you, to understand your nature, I accepted that you couldn't have chosen otherwise. You have a regal heart, Kael'thas: you want to empower those who are able to fight, and to shield the weak or faltering from harm." Telestra sighed. "She was right: you might have made a fine Guardian."

"She?" Was Telestra referring to the mystery visitor, or someone else?

Telestra waved her hand in front of her face; her features shimmered, and the glamor that had disguised her age faded, wrinkling her skin and dulling her hair to dark gray. "Kael'thas, you have become extraordinary on your own terms, an accomplishment for which I can take little credit. I can teach you no more."

"That's not true!" Kael cried, pushing himself out of the chair. "I have so much more —"

Telestra shook her head. "No, I'm certain of it. I've decided. It is time for me to go."

"No!" he said, reaching to embrace her. "I can't — "

"Of course you can," she said, patting his back reassuringly.

"There's no need to rush off this instant," he said, unwilling to let her go. "Stay at least another hour."

"No," she said, the fire shield fading as she pushed him away. "I should have left days ago, but I didn't want to sneak away without seeing you."

"I wouldn't have forgiven that," he said. "What am I going to do until you return?"

"Join the Council, when they ask you," she said. "Apply what you have learned, Grow ever stronger. And keep yourself safe."

And then she was gone.

.

.

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><p>.<p>

first post 25 March 2014; revised 19 Nov 2014


	4. The Assembly Chamber (Selin) 4

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: Kael'thas tries to learn where Telestra has gone, receives some unexpected news, is invited to join the Six, meets Rommath, and defends Dalaran during the Second War._

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 4: The Assembly Chamber (Selin Fireheart), Part IV<em><br>_**

__by silverr__

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><p><em>.<em>

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~ : |4| : ~

_No! More... I must have more!_

.

.

Even from this distance, I can feel Selin's desperation as the power he took from the crystals fades.

You can't possibly understand what it's like for him: to be raised so high, to taste such sweetness, to _almost_ reach perfection ... and then to feel it ebb as once again, your unceasing attacks shred his strength, his dignity, his very reason until he is just an empty, broken shell fading from existence, driven only by the need to find something to mend himself and keep himself from oblivion, if only for a few moments...

Yes, I, like all my people, understand Selin's desperation.

As for you — unless you have have borne weeks and years of such agony, unless you have been shattered, body and soul, over and over again — do not dare presume to claim that you understand us.

.

.

In the first months after Telestra left Kael'thas thought often about their last meeting. Although he was willing to admit that some might interpret her actions as evidence that she expected never to see him again — the topics they had discussed, the fact that she had shown him her un-glamored appearance — he preferred to focus on the fact that she had not said outright that she wasn't coming back. He decided that the most likely scenario was that she was traveling, possibly with her friend Aegwynn. Undoubtedly they would contact him when they returned to Dalaran.

And so he applied himself to his work. One day, a crate he'd been sent from one of the Northrend sites held a stone carved with runes he had never seen before. He consulted the reference books — both his own and those in the Vault of Rare Tomes — but as he could find nothing helpful he teleported, out of habit, to Telestra's chambers.

The air was stale, and a fine dust furred every surface. On the table the desiccated remains of the orchids lay next to the treatise on frost magic, and the window shutters were cemented shut with bird's nests. He'd thought that he'd accepted her absence, but the sight of the neglected room made him realize how acutely he missed her.

Kael wrote to Eldin, asking him to query his gossip sources, but no one in Silvermoon had any news of her. He asked the flower sellers and the innkeepers' cooks: all but the oldest claimed they'd never even heard of her. He didn't think much of this until he began to bring her name up during conversations with his fellow mages, but when even the older mages pretended never to have heard of her he was certain he was being played. He began to teleport to her rooms frequently, each time searching for any sign that anyone but himself had been there, but he never found anything. The more everyone denied her, the more his memories of her gradually began to fade, and the more important it became to him to trace her whereabouts.

The only thing he could think of to do was to try to find out more about Telestra's mysterious visitor: perhaps _she_ knew where his mentor had gone. "Her name is Aegwynn," he told the Keeper of the Register.

"It doesn't sound familiar," the old mage said. He shuffled to the bookcase and took a thick, oversized leather volume from the shelf, then fastidiously traced his finger over each page. "No, I'm sorry," he said at last. "There is no one with that name in the Kirin Tor. Are you certain she is a mage?"

"I don't know," Kael said, watching the Keeper put the volume back on the shelf. "All I'm certain of is that she's a friend of Magna Telestra."

"Telestra?" The Keeper turned to look at him.

"Yes," Kael said with a half-smile, "but I'm sure you'll tell me she's not in the Register."

"Telestra ... Telestra ... there was a Magna Telestra once," the Keeper said slowly, "but as I recall her name was struck out almost two thousand years ago."

"I see." Telestra's comment — _More than one person who has gone against them has disappeared_ — echoed in his memory, and his pulse suddenly began to pound in his throat. "My apologies — I must have heard the names wrong."

"If you say so," the Keeper said. He now seemed much less doddering and much more sinister.

As Kael hurried from the Citadel out into the bright sunlight a hooded figure stepped in front of him. "Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider?"

"Who are you?" Kael shaded his eyes with his hand, but the face of his questioner was a black void, obscured by magic. "Why do you presume to question me?"

"How is it that you are acquainted with the name of Magna Aegwynn?"

The stranger didn't seem to be immediately threatening, although Kael was disconcerted that he could not identify whether they were human or elf. "I'm not. I ... overheard a fragment of conversation as I was passing through the square." This much at least was true. "What I heard intrigued me. "

Waggling a gloved finger as in warning, the stranger said, "Never lie until you can do so convincingly!"

They vanished.

Kael, who had been about to retort that deceitfulness was hardly a princely virtue, was astonished and outraged by this encounter. It was one thing to be in scrutinized in Quel'Thalas — as a member of the royal family he'd grown up with it, and had learned to ignore it — but here? Who had the audacity to keep such close track on his movements, and why, and for how long? What would they do if he didn't meet their approval? It couldn't have been coincidence that they had confronted him moments after his discussion with the Keeper —but did it mean he was being watched by the Kirin Tor? If so, why reveal their surveillance now? Should he confront someone, perhaps even Archmage Antonidas, with the knowledge, and challenge him to explain himself? No, that was unconscionable if he was wrong. And yet what if he was not wrong? Was it best to pretend to ignore the incident?

Such machinations were not an area of expertise for him, but with Telestra gone there was only one person left whose advice he could trust.

.

Seyla met him at the portal at the base of Sunstrider Spire. "This was well-timed," she said, "I was just about to write suggesting a visit." She looked pale and worn.

"Where is Eldin?" Kael asked. "I thought he'd be meeting me."

"He's relaxing at the top of the Spire," she said, then put her hand on Kael's arm. "Before we go up ... I assure, you, his condition has much improved, but I wanted to prepare you so that you're not shocked by his appearence."

Stunned, Kael said, "Condition? When last I saw him he had a simple sore throat."

"It was more than that," she said as as they began to climb the stairs to the observation balcony atop the Sunspire, "but I'll have to explain it to you later. I don't want to keep him waiting."

.

Kael was grateful that Seyla had prepared him.

Eldin, wrapped in a thick robe, was seated on an invalid's chaise with a heavy coverlet tucked around his chest and legs. "Brother!" he said as soon as he saw Kael, making no attempt to stand. "What a surprise! What news from Dalaran?" Though in high spirits, he was distressingly gaunt in the face.

Seyla fussed over him a bit and then sat close, staring out at the toy-like buildings and walkways of Sunstrider Isle far below.

"Actually, I need your help." Kael related his encounter with the mysterious interlocutor, and then explained that he'd been making inquiries about Aegwynn. "Supposedly she's a friend of Magna Telestra's." It felt odd to withhold information from his brother, but then, the fact that he'd actually met Aegwynn in Telestra's chambers wasn't relevant.

"Aegwynn," Eldin said, as if savoring the name.

"You know her?"

"I know _of_ her," Eldin said. "There are many — including Convocation members — who would say she was the most powerful mage Azeroth has ever produced."

"They said that about a human?"

"I don't recall mentioning that she was human," Eldin said.

"You didn't," Kael said. "I must have read it somewhere."

Eldin gave him an indulgent look. "My dear little brother, your accoster was right. If you're going to withhold information, you're going to have to learn to suppress that guilty look."

"It's very surprising that the Convocation would regard a human mage so highly," Kael said.

Eldin chuckled. "And you're even less skilled at misdirection. Tell me the rest."

Chastised, Kael then admitted meeting Aegwynn the day Telestra had said farewell.

"Oh ho," Eldin said, sitting up eagerly with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I can read between the words. You took a liking to her! I don't blame you; by all accounts she was beautiful and very charismatic."

"No," Kael said. "I mean, yes, she intrigued me, but not by her appearence. She hid her face. And I wasn't attracted to her."

"Oh really?" Eldin was almost smirking. "Did I mention what a poor liar you are?"

Ignoring this, Kael said, "Telestra leaves the day Aegwynn appears. At first I was simply curious about how the two were connected, but the unexpected way people have responded to my inquiries has added a second layer of mystery." He shook his head. "It almost feels as though I have stumbled across some vast conspiracy."

"In a way, you have," Eldin said. "Three millennia ago, a secret organization was created to deal with the consequences of irresponsible and sloppy magical practices by the Dalaran magocracy." He paused. "The Convocation was involved with this organization initially, although references in the official records have been purged."

"What does that have to do with Aegwynn?"

"Because Aegwynn most likely is part of this organization, and Telestra's son might have been among the founding members."

"Telestra's son?" Kael said. "The half-elf?"

"I have a pet historian who claims that there are references in certain unofficial correspondence to a half-elf referred to as 'The Spearhead.' "

"Coincidence."

"Perhaps," Eldin said. "There's no way to be sure without confirmation from Telestra herself or one of the other founding members — assuming any are still living. The point is, if this organization is meant to keep the human population ignorant of how often they are being endangered by their own mages, no one in the Kirin Tor is likely to admit to its existence. Or to the existence of any of its members."

Kael nodded slowly. "If Aegwynn is part of this secret organization, and if Telestra has ties to it as well ... I suppose that would explain how they became acquainted with each other, and why no one will answer my questions about them."

"It might explain more than that," Eldin said. "Think about it: Aegwynn and Telestra are extremely powerful mages. Separately, each is formidable enough, but if they have joined forces their combined power could be immense. I can well imagine your Kirin Tor sweating in their boots."

"And that's why I'm being watched?" Kael said. "Because they believe I will somehow lead them to Telestra or Aegwynn? If that's the case, why reveal the surveillance? All it accomplishes is to force Aegwynn and Telestra to take extra precautions."

"Unless that's the point," Eldin said thoughtfully. "To sever the possibility of contact. No, it must be someone other than the Kirin Tor, but as for who ... well, all I can say is that they weren't one of mine, and I doubt they were one of Father's."

"What?" Kael asked. "Yours? Father's? What are you talking about?"

"Now _that's_ how you misdirect," Eldin said with a smile. "Seriously, Kael, did you really think we'd strand you, unprotected, in the wilds of Lordaeron? How could you think we'd be so heartless? We've had you guarded since the day you arrived in Dalaran."

"But I have never noticed — "

"Of course you haven't," Eldin said. "Protectors are meant to be invisible until they are needed." Eldin frowned. "I will say, however, that I am not pleased that I wasn't informed of this incident. To me, what you experienced was an indirect threat: to flash a knife at someone from across a room is only slightly less grievous than stabbing with it." He coughed, but when Seyla rose from her chair he shook his head.

"So I am in danger?" Kael asked.

"Perhaps," Eldin said, sounding hoarse. "Don't change your routine, but be watchfully cautious from now on. Show whoever is daring to menace you that Sunstriders do not cower."

A new thought occurred to him. "Eldin ... could this lingering sore throat of yours be connected to whoever is shadowing me?"

Eldin shook his head. "I doubt it. The royal cooks have become obsessed with soups for quite some time — they rarely bring anything else to the table, I've almost begun to dread mealtimes! But to the point: we're served from a common tureen, and the seating is random. If the soup or the utensils or the plates were poisoned, others would have become ill as well." He settled his hands more deeply in his sleeves. "But that you even thought to ask about the possibility of attempted assassination is disturbing. Are the humans capable of such a thing? Do they think we were involved in the recent orc invasions?"

Kael hesitated before answering. "I wouldn't go that far. Certainly we aren't blamed for the destruction of Stormwind, but some are insulted that only a handful of rangers are being sent to assist King Terenas' Alliance."

"I don't see why," Eldin said. "If the humans are even reasonably competent, the orcs should never reach Lordaeron. The humans have rangers, and mages, and cavalry, and a navy. Against — what? Infantry and a handful of warlocks? From what I hear the orcs are ferocious in hand-to-hand combat, but overall they're disorganized, undisciplined, and outnumbered."

"And yet somehow they overran the southern kingdom," Kael pointed out.

"Relying on the element of surprise," Eldin said, "an advantage they no longer have. Combine that with the rumored in-fighting and struggles for leadership, and they may destroy themselves before long."

"What if they convince the Amani to ally with them — "

"I don't know why you insist on worrying," Eldin said. "Even if Doomhammer woos Zul'jin, our Ranger-General and her new pet will be waiting in the bridal bower."

"New pet?" Kael asked. "Surely you don't mean Marris? Did Sylvanas induct him into the rangers despite the objections?"

"Of course she did," Eldin said, laughing. "When has she ever pandered to tradition? Or public opinion, for that matter?" His laugh garbled into a racking cough that went on and on.

Seyla hurried to pour Eldin a drink. As she did she gave Kael a wordlessly eloquent warning — prudent, as it turned out, for it prepared him for the sight of her holding the cup to Eldin's lips as if he were too weak to hold it himself.

"Very true," Kael said as casually as he was able. "All the Windrunners are like that. Eccentric and ill-mannered."

"And all of them superbly competent," Eldin said. "Good thing they're on our side." His eyelids began to droop, and with a half-smile he said, "Curse you, woman, you know how sleepy I get the instant I drink your foul concoctions."

"Blame the herb water all you want," Seyla said crisply as she unfolded a second coverlet. "We all know you're lazier than a pile of cats." She spread the coverlet over him. "If not for me you'd nap around the clock." She glanced sideways at Kael, with a protective look that Kael interpreted to mean that it was time to him to go.

"As much as I'd like to stay and listen to you snore," Kael said, "I must get back to Dalaran. There's a senior mage who's been translating an ancient tome that's so badly deteriorated that it's not much more than scraps. He comes to me every afternoon with another handful to reassemble, and as you've recommended that I adhere to my usual routines I don't want him to find my door locked."

"They make you repair books as well as weapons?" Seyla asked as she resumed her seat next to Eldin.

"Not that much difference," Eldin murmured as he began to nod off. "Books have knowledge. Knowledge is a weapon." He opened his eyes wide and shook his head. "Wait! Before you go I have a request, little brother."

"Anything."

Eldin opened his mouth and then paused, as if he'd lost his thread of thought, then said slowly, "It would please me if you made an effort to spend time with other elves."

"I _do_ spend time with elves," Kael pointed out.

"I don't mean here," Eldin said. "I mean elves in the human kingdoms. Lordaeron and Alterac. Or Dalaran, at least."

Kael bit back the comment that the majority of the elves in Dalaran, six hundred or more years younger, offered him nothing but timid, pointless questions and obsequious fawning.

"There is safety in numbers," Seyla said.

"Even more than that," Eldin said, obviously reading reluctance in Kael's face, "as a Sunstrider and an accomplished mage it is your responsibility to teach and inspire them. Help keep our heritage alive." He leaned his head to look up at Seyla; she stroked his cheek. "You have experienced the joys of solitude, Kael. It's time to try something different."

Kael felt a tenderness faintly tinged with envy as he watched the two of them. "Perhaps."

"I'll expect progress reports," Eldin said with a weak scowl. "With names and a summary of activities."

"I'll provide them," Kael said dutifully.

.

Once Eldin's head lolled in sleep Kael silently followed Seyla down the tower stairs until they were well out of earshot. "Why I wasn't told immediately of how dire his condition had become?" He knew it sounded like an accusation. He didn't care.

"Eldin said not to. He said —" Seyla wiped at her eyes and half-laughed. "He said he didn't want you to drop everything you were doing in Dalaran to hover over him like a fussy old uncle."

"Why hasn't anyone healed him?"

"Do you truly think we haven't tried?" Seyla shot back, then caught herself and lowered her voice. "His illness resists every antidote and cure."

"Then it's a malign spell. Are our Cursebreakers so inadequate?"

She shook her head. "No. Purifications haven't helped, and he receives wards day and night."

"I see." Kael looked down the stairwell, spiraling into darkness. Why was his family under attack, and from who? It couldn't be the Kirin Tor, as Eldin's illness had begun before Kael had even met Aegwynn — and even if it hadn't, it was preposterous to think that the Kirin Tor would go so far as to interfere with the succession. Although ... rather than manipulating Kael into influencing whoever was king, wouldn't it be far more effective to make Kael king, and thus control the royal decisions more precisely? No, he couldn't believe it. Every one of the senior members of the Kirin Tor he'd ever had dealings with had struck him as honorable, some exceptionally so. Yes, there were some odd birds — Kel'Thuzad was rather intense about certain subjects, and there was an elusive mage named Krasus who was spoken of but whom Kael had never, in all his time in Dalaran, seen — but was Kel'Thuzad any more intense than Dar'Khan or Telonicus? And being reluctant to appear in public was no crime: Anasterian himself rarely did so.

Seyla said softly, "It was so gradual we didn't realize it was serious until —" She pressed her lips together, fighting tears. "Until he was so weak he couldn't stand. He finally admitted that for weeks he hadn't been able to keep his meals down. That's when your father and the royal physicians revealed to those of us—" Her voice caught again. "To those of us close to him that they had always feared this sickness, which has slumbered in his blood since he was born."

This revelation was shocking, and Kael literally gripped the railing to keep his balance. "Why was this kept from us?"

"I don't know. Maybe they thought that Eldin wouldn't have had a normal childhood if he — and we — knew about the threat that hung over him?" Seyla sighed. "Since he didn't get sick when he was young, they thought he'd escaped it and didn't say anything because they thought the danger had passed."

Kael thought of the row of infant graves and nodded. "I'll send word to the Kirin Tor immediately."

"Why?"

"They'll need to know I'll be here indefinitely."

"No, don't do that! Don't do that to Eldin!" Seyla pleaded. "For his sake, you must return to Dalaran. If you stay here it'll look as if we've given up hope."

"Is that all my brother has?" Kael asked, more harshly than he intended. "Hope?"

Seyla flinched.

"I understand your request," Kael said reluctantly, "but I feel as though I am abandoning him."

"But you aren't! Please, let me take care of him in your stead." She smiled faintly. "I do love him, you know. I have always loved him. In my own imperfect, non-brotherly way."

"I know," Kael said, taking this as a delicate — but entirely justified — reprimand. "Contact me instantly if there is any change?"

"Of course." Seyla put her hand on his arm. "Thank you, Kael'thas."

After Seyla left him Kael stood looking southeast over the forests of Quel'Thalas. Usually the rippling expanse of treetops made him feel proud and secure, but today the vastness seemed ominous, as if any moment a horde of monstrous beings would arc into sight and savage the land ... Such a ridiculous, fanciful notion, and yet this world, _his_ world, had shifted, lost some of its warmth and glow.

Eldin was right: if he did stay, he _would_ be tempted to hover. He had to leave, even though he was now triply reluctant to return to Dalaran. Of late he had found the human city colder and less welcoming with every passing day. Was it because he had become so accustomed to Telestra's presence for warmth? It seemed so: without her he felt like an anchorless ship, helpless against the currents slowly pulling him from safe harbor into an immense, indifferent sea.

_A definition of loneliness if ever I heard one,_ he thought, and smiled ruefully. Doing what Eldin had asked — sponsoring gatherings to promote solidarity and general well-being among the elven population of Dalaran — might even yield one or two persons whose company was enjoyable. And yet how was he to begin? He had none of Eldin's facility for charming an entire room without once sounding false. Not that he considered this a deficiency: he and Eldin had simply developed skills that aligned with the strengths of their respective temperaments. Even though at their core they were both explorers excited by the possibilities of the new, Kael preferred the inanimate, while Eldin loved meeting and studying people. Kael suspected that Eldin's approach would be to put an _Everyone Welcome At All Hours_ sign on the workshop door and happily welcome the throng that resulted, a tactic that Kael most certainly would not be using.

.

_K—:_

_Choosing a circle of friends is excellent practice for choosing a council,_ Eldin wrote a few days later. _Anasterian told me once that if you take care in selecting those you allow closest to you, and display your confidence in their judgement by giving them leave to act in your name, you will not only deepen their loyalty, but will encourage them to bring their most trusted associates into your circle of influence. I've seen this borne out many times: take Thalorien, for example. Without him I might have overlooked both Lana'thel and Lor'themar, who have not only become dear friends, but who I know I can trust to help me rule some day._

_This same principle will apply to your Quel'Dorei Social Society: your first disciple will tell two or three, who will in turn tell others, and soon there will be dozens in your entourage. All you need do is provide a location for the first few meetings: once the group becomes diverse enough there is likely to be someone who excels at organization and logistics._

_As always, E.  
><em>

Kael understood what Eldin was saying, but the difficult part was choosing that first "councilor" (the word _disciple_ in Eldin's letter made him cringe), a process that, in typical Eldin fashion, his brother had presented far too optimistically. It was clear to Kael, however, that the result of incorrectly evaluating a stranger for hidden malicious impulses could be a drowning flood rather than a pleasantly branching rivulet. It was this sobering knowledge that primarily held him back — although it was also true that he was acclimating himself to the idea of sustained companionship. He answered Eldin's frequent inquiries with vague assurances that he was making progress, but in truth he sequestered himself in his workshop to edit a translation of a lexicon of non-elven magical terms. The work went slowly, as too easily he found himself losing concentration and becoming mesmerized by the dust motes swirling in the wedge of sunlight that came through the tall narrow window.

And then, one day, he became angry at himself for making what should have been a straightforward process into something complex. His own case aside, the Kirin Tor had an extensive evaluation process for selecting to whom they would extend the offer of membership. All he need do was pick someone who was already an initiate — such a person theoretically cherished magic and was determined to dedicate their life to it — gauge whether they had any interest in the sort of gathering Eldin had suggested, and allow the invasion of his solitude to ensue. Unfortunately, most of Dalaran's students, though earnest, tended to plateau at mediocrity, never rising higher than competent no matter how diligently they studied. Take the assortment of young elven mages who spent most of each day reading in a corner next to Kael's bookcases… although as he considered them he realized that the fact that they rarely took notes and only looked up when the workshop door opened probably meant that they were "protectors" planted by his father and brother. Even if they weren't, clearly none of them would do for his first councilor: what Kael wanted, what he _needed,_ was a kindred spirit, one of those rare mages who seemed to vibrate in unison with the wellspring of magic itself, who absorbed knowledge as greedily and easily as one drains a goblet to slake thirst.

There was a black-haired Kirin Tor initiate who came by the workshop several times a week to consult Kael's collection of works on abjuration and enchanting. Blessedly untalkative, this initiate had an air of disciplined intensity that had always mildly intrigued Kael, and so the next time he came by Kael studied him as he sat at the far end of the table taking notes. At first glance he seemed a classic example of the talented son whose family could barely afford his tuition — he wore the standard student's robe, his raven-black hair was pulled back with austere simplicity into a simple clasp, and no jewelry or cosmetics mitigated his age, which Kael took to be eight or nine hundred. However, when Kael observed more closely he noticed that the robe, although dyed in drab variants of the Kirin Tor colors, was woven of the very finest spellcloth rather than linen, and that the simple hair-clasp, though worn with age, was made of precious metals. These discreet luxuries suggested a background of wealth so confident that it had no need to be ostentatious, which implied one of the ancient houses.

As the initiate closed the book and went to return it to the shelf Kael said to him, "You've walked to that bookcase so often you're starting to wear out the carpet."

The mage, who had been sliding the book into its proper place on the shelf, stopped as suddenly as if he'd been turned to stone.

Kael could tell from his posture — back absolutely straight, hand still holding the book's spine — that he was either shocked, afraid, or offended — or possibly all three. "I wasn't serious," Kael said in what he hoped was an appeasing tone of voice. "You are welcome to use my library at any time. In fact, you can take the book with you, if you wish." _Anar'alah,_ what was the elf's name? He had most certainly introduced himself when he'd first come to the workshop, and yet Kael had no memory of it ... well, there was nothing to be done but to own up to the failing. "Forgive me, but I can't recall your name."

"Rommath." With stiffly elegant movements and posture Rommath took the book from the shelf and carried it carefully back to the table. then stood staring down at his notes. After a moment he began folding the parchment into precise thirds. "I am honored by your trust, your highness." He kept his eyes fixed on the parchment.

Under most circumstances Kael would have found such behavior disrespectful, but he had a feeling that Rommath-of-No-House had been made speechless by his prince's sudden friendliness. "That looks like Ri'finna's _Treatise on Energy Transfer,"_ Kael said, as if nothing was amiss. "Are you specializing in enchantment, Rommath?"

"I — ah — " Rommath continued to press the folded edges of the parchment with his thumb as if performing a vitally important task. "I've been doing research for a friend, your highness," he said at last. He opened the book and tucked the parchment inside, and only then did he look up. His gaze was direct, although the rest of his face was expressionless.

"Is your friend that shy?" Kael asked, genuinely curious. "Or am I that intimidating?"

"No?" Rommath said hesitantly; then again, with more conviction, "No. But you are a prince."

"And a direct descendent of Dath'remar Sunstrider," Kael said with a smile. "However, we are not in Silvermoon. Here in Dalaran I prefer to be thought of as your equal. A mere mage, like any other member of the Kirin Tor."

Rommath's expression was guarded, but he nodded as he picked up the book and held it to his chest.

"I'll make a deal with you, Rommath," Kael said. "Call me Kael'thas, and I'll make a gift of the book. I'll even inscribe it ... although my signature might lower the resale value." He reached for a quill, then held out his hand.

"We will not sell it," Rommath said faintly, handing over the book.

_"From Kael'thas Sunstrider,"_ Kael said as he wrote. "To — ?"

"Astalor Sunflight."

"Only the one name?"

"If it pleases your — " Rommath caught himself, then said, "Yes, Kael'thas. Astalor's name only."

Kael closed the book and handed it to Rommath. "Tell me, do you think there would be interest in a weekly group to discuss topics in arcane studies? Or news relevant to the quel'dorei?"

"I am sure of it," Rommath said without hesitation.

The first meeting was held the next afternoon in Kael's small workshop. Rommath brought Astalor — a quiet blond whose intensity surpassed even Rommath's — and tall twins who Astalor introduced as Val and Kel. The five of them talked briefly of the orc invasion, but the conversation quickly shifted to magical topics. It wasn't until Rommath lit the room's lamps that Kael realized how many hours had flown by.

And so it began. Not that Kael had doubted Eldin's claim that the other elves would be eager to rally around a Sunstrider, but he was surprised at how grateful they seemed to be — and how many there were. More than a dozen elves came to the second meeting, which meant that twice as many leaned against the walls as sat, but there were no complaints. Kael was cajoled into finishing the evening by talking about Dath'remar, and rather than grumbles about dusty history all he saw were rapt, attentive faces. It was exhilarating.

The next day Rommath informed Kael that the Legerdemain's innkeeper had agreed to allow them free use of her meeting hall one night a week.

"Free? I'm surprised she agreed to that."

"Astalor can be very tenacious when he sets his mind on something." Rommath had gradually lost most of his initial reticence, although he always retained a mannered formality that seemed more appropriate to an elder than to someone not yet a thousand.

The agenda for each week was generally impromptu, primarily magical problems (the majority of the attendees were Kirin Tor initiates), although from time to time they discussed the war in the southern kingdoms. Kael was flattered that more and more came each week; granted, there were a few who he suspected attended simply because he was a prince, but that was the way of the world. It wasn't long before his brightest, eagerest pupils — Theraldis, Rommath, Tenris, Valanar, Astalor, Sathera, Patheleon, Sandoval — convinced him to hold an invitation-only evenings in his private chambers. "Elite discussion for the elite," is how Sandoval put it. In this more intimate setting Kael felt relaxed enough to be coaxed into discssing his most deeply-held hopes and dreams for how the kingdom would prosper under King Eldin. At the end of the meeting Astalor and Sathera produced a _geshan-lu,_ the simple flute that all quel'dorei learned to play as children, and harried Rommath until he agreed to play. Kael'thas was astounded at the depth of emotion hidden in the performance, and found himself moved nearly to tears by Rommath's rendition of _Dirge for Those Taken._

.

Two days later, Kael'thas received a summons asking him to report to the Violet Citadel.

After being led to an upper balcony and through a hidden door into a small windowless room, he was told to wait. As the door closed he saw in the darkness the glowing outline of a transportation rune. Curious, he stepped in.

He was ported to a circular platform — the word "room" could hardly apply to something with no walls or ceiling — high in the air. Strong winds streamed across the platform, although they had no effect on the wall of mist that obscured the identity of several figures that stood across from him. One of them, a voice he did not recognize, greeted him. "Welcome, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider."

"The infamous Council of Six, I assume," Kael said, shouting against the wind. "Why have you brought me here?"

"You will earn the privilege of asking questions of us," a deeper, almost-familiar voice said, "once you prove your willingness to answer the questions we put to you."

"What do you want to know?"

"We are aware of the secret meeting you held in your chambers." A female voice — although like the others, it was unfamiliar.

She had phrased it as a statement, but Kael felt a reply was needed. "It was an extension of the discussion group that meets in the public room of the inn. We discuss magic and politics." That he was being questioned in such an insulting manner — as if he was a criminal! — puzzled and irritated him. "It also gives us an opportunity to keep our Thalassian from acquiring a Common accent."

"Your people feel unwelcome here?"

"The feeling of connection to Quel'thalas can be difficult to maintain," Kael said, pleased that he was able to word it so diplomatically.

"You did not answer the question," a harsher voice pointed out.

"Why am I being asked this?" Kael asked. "Have I done anything that would make you question my loyalty?"

Yet another voice said, "We are simply unclear about your priorities, Prince Kael'thas."

"Should war come to Dalaran," Kael said, "I will defend this city with my life, as will all the elves of this city."

"And if war should come to — "

"No," the somewhat familiar voice interrupted. "This is not the time for that."

Kael couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed that the shapes had huddled together, as if conferring. After a few moments another question came. "What do you know of the abilities of the sorcerer named Medivh?"

"Medivh?" Kael replied. "I've heard the name. Is this the same Medivh to whom Khadgar was apprenticed?"

"Yes."

Kael was puzzled. "Then why don't you ask Khadgar of Medivh's abilities?"

Surprisingly, three interrogators answered simultaneously, one saying, "We will," another saying, "We did," and a third saying, "We can't."

_Curious._

"What was your relationship," a different voice asked, "with the mage known as Magna Aegwynn?"

"I had none," Kael said, shielding his eyes against a shaft of sunlight that stabbed through the mists and made him curiously light-headed. "I only met Aegwynn once, on the day that Magna Telestra left Dalaran. I have had no contact with her since."

"You claim to have no knowledge of her magical abilities?"

"No." He hesitated, then added, "It was my impression that she was very powerful." He wasn't sure, but it almost sounded as though this made one of his questioners chuckle.

"Were you aware that Medivh was her son?"

Use of the past tense struck him. "Was? Is Magna Aegwynn dead?"

"Answer the question."

"Telestra told me that Aegwynn had a child. She never told me the child's name."

"He tells the truth," a fourth voice replied.

"Of course I tell the truth," Kael said, his irritation swelling into anger with the entire proceeding. "I am a prince of House Sunstrider!"

"Yes, you are," the familiar voice replied. "Please indulge us a moment further."

More huddling, more whispering. At last the deep voice said, "Forgive our methods, Prince Kael'thas. Recent events — events whose causes and purposes are not understood fully even by this Council — have greatly tasked us."

"I am pleased to have been of service," Kael said with a bow, hoping he didn't sound too snide.

"Give us your assurance that you will keep the details of this meeting a secret."

"Of course. Anything else?"

"We may call upon you to prove the truth of your words," a final voice said sternly. "Be ready."

.

The next week began uneventfully. Kael informed Rommath that he had changed his mind about hosting private meetings in his chambers.

Rommath looked perplexed. "Have we offended your in some way?" he asked.

"Not at all," Kael reassured him. "It was a marvelous evening; I can't think of the last time I felt so at ease—or so moved by a musical performance. My only concern is that, as my chambers accommodate so few, such gatherings by necessity exclude so many." Kael smiled. "I'd rather my favorites among our society not be so obvious."

Rommath looked briefly surprised, then quickly looked down. "Of course."

There was a knock at the door. Antonidas, the Archmage of the Kirin Tor. Tall, almost elderly by human standards but still quite vigorous, Antonidas' most arresting features were his long white beard and his eyes, piercingly observant and almost as intensely blue as an elf's. Kael had not had much contact with him outside of formal dinners and Kirin Tor assembly meetings, but even in those limited interactions he had been impressed by both Antonidas' obvious intelligence and erudition, and by his air of humility and child-like curiosity. "Am I interrupting anything?" he asked.

"Of course not," Rommath said, "I was just leaving." He bowed quickly and left.

"How may I help you, Archmage?"

"I have heard," the old man said, leaning on the corner of the worktable and peering at the materials and equipment of Kael's current project, "that you have been doing some very interesting research in the field of enchanting. I would be most gratified if you explained it to me."

"I don't understand," Kael said, bringing a tall chair over so that Antonidas wouldn't have to stand. "I've submitted copies of my papers and my notes to the Office of the Imprimatur. Have I inadvertently broken a law?"

"No, no, not at all!" Antonidas laughed. "It's just that I sit at my desk and read all day, and thought it might be enjoyable to walk down and hear about someone's work first-hand for a change."

"Of course," Kael said. He didn't for a moment believe that Antonidas had chosen him at random, but as part of his new strategy of being cautiously watchful he knew he should act as if he was taking this request at face value and not ascribing any ulterior motive. "My current work," he said, "is aimed at capturing the arcane energy of an enchantment in that moment when it is between weapons."

"What an intriguing idea!" Antonidas said, settling himself on the chair. "What ever made you attempt such a thing?"

"It occurred to me that a healing spell and a healing potion," Kael said, despite himself warming to the topic, "while very different from most perspectives, both augment endurance and restore vitality. If in this way the potion can be thought of as a portable, liquid substitute for the spell, understanding the underlying principle that connects the potion and the spell should allow me, theoretically, to create an object that can store the essence of magic in and of itself. A consumable form of the raw energy that is the wellspring of our power."

"Sounds as though you learned a great deal from Telestra," Antonidas said. "Even though we waived your apprenticeship to make it clear that you had no need to train with her." His tone was mild rather than accusatory.

"I wasn't aware that it was forbidden," Kael said calmly. "As her reputation as an arcane theoretician was — is — without peer in Quel'Thalas, it seemed reasonable to learn what I could from her, even if informally." He added, "When I first arrived in Dalaran I felt very much a neophyte."

"We were better judges of that than you were," Antonidas said cheerfully. "Still, I do appreciate your honesty."

Kael folded his arms. "Might I respectfully ask for yours, then? Why do so many in the Kirin Tor claim never to have heard of Telestra? Or Aegwynn?"

"How odd," Antonidas said. "Are people truly deceiving you? Well, I see no reason to hide the truth. Yes, I knew them both. Telestra's contributions were most thought-provoking. I am curious, however, why you ask about Aegwynn in the same breath as your old mentor."

_Ah-ha,_ Kael thought. _Eldin was right._ He had to admire how skillfully Antonidas had led the conversation. "Telestra and I were close," he said. "During my time as her ... informal apprentice ... she became almost a second mother to me. I've become concerned, as I've had no contact with her since she left and have no idea where she's gone. When my inquiries — " _made it appear as though every trace of her had been obliterated_ "— didn't lead anywhere fruitful, I remembered that Telestra had referred to Aegwynn as her friend. I thought if I could locate Aegwynn she might know where to find Telestra."

Antonidas was nodding, patting and smoothing the tabletop as if comforting it.

"Do _you_ know where either of them are?" Kael asked.

"No," Antonidas said, "and that is more worrisome to me than you can know." He gave the table a final pat. "Well, I commend you, Kael'thas. Very original work. I will be following your progress with great interest."

.

The Council's second summons came the next day. Once again Kael'thas stepped into the rune and emerged on the platform. This time the sky above was overcast; the winds were gentler, and the fog was much thicker.

"How may I serve you today?" Kael said, giving the courtliest of bows.

"You have proven yourself competent, discreet, and of sound moral judgment," a voice said without preamble, "and thus we invite you to join the High Council of the Kirin Tor, the governing body of the city of Dalaran and all the territories under her protection."

Kael, recalling Telestra's claim that he would be one of the Six 'in no time,' said, "I've been in Dalaran for centuries. How gratifiying that I'm at last deemed worthy."

"We do not measure time by human standards," a second voice said.

"Do you accept?" the third voice asked.

Kael was certain that there was something untoward about the timing of this invitation, but he could not quite identify why. His appointment would have made more sense when he first arrived in Dalaran, as a sign of respect for House Sunstrider. At the very least it should have come several years ago, when the human nations first came under attack and were, one assumed, in more immediate need of Quel'Thalas' help to win their war against the orcs. That it was coming only now made him feel as though he had only been deemed "worthy" because he had established that he no longer had contact with Telestra.

_Tainted by association,_ Eldin had once said. Was it true? Had Telestra's presence prevented Kael from being offered a Council seat? If so, had she left of her own free will, or had her departure been the price of his admittance? The idea that the Kirin Tor might have forced an ultimatum on Telestra made him angry, and it was almost on his lips to refuse — but then he calmed. If Telestra had indeed made such a sacrifice for him, the best way to honor it would be to use whatever power being a member of the Six afforded him to find her and bring her back.

"Yes," he said, "I accept. I will become one of the Six."

The wind changed direction, and revealed the other five.

.

Oddly, not much changed. Kael was told that his membership in the Six was not to be discussed or acknowledged in any way outside the Chamber of Air, but the fact that Antonidas and Modera stopped by his workroom more often was apparently noticed by the rank-and-file of the Kirin Tor, who seemed to be treating him with much more deference than they had previously. As for his fellow Council members, Kel'Thuzad, of course, continued to come by almost daily with his odd scraps of parchment, and the elusive Krasus was still somewhat elusive, as Kael never saw him outside of the Council meetings in the Chamber of Air. Kael had been surprised to discover that Krasus was an elf; he was even more surprised that Krasus consistently deflected all questions about his House and lineage as irrelevant to Concil business. As to the actual Council meetings, they were similar to many Kael'thas had attended as a Convocation member in Silvermoon: sometimes they decided who would attend various diplomatic summits on Dalaran's behalf, or how to properly store dangerous magical artifacts too valuable to destroy, but more often they discussed trivial matters such as requests for access to restricted materials or the promotion of a worthy mage to the position of archmage.

And so his life might have continuted to unfold, predictable, uneventful, almost dull, if not for the orcs.

Kael's current watchdog — a sturdily-built elf with short reddish hair — heard the commotion before Kael did, putting down her book and sitting upright. A moment later the door to the workshop burst open, and one of the triplets — Kael thought it was Tal, but he wasn't sure — said excitedly, just as the defense alarm began to sound, "The orcs have defeated the Third Fleet and crossed Baradin Bay!"

Kael extinguished his fireplace, placed a shield around his workroom, and then hurried downstairs and out into the street, where he found the organized pandemonium of vendors closing up their shops and non-magical residents hurrying with their children to the underground shelters.

At the focus point in Runeweaver Square Kael joined Antonidas and the other defensive mages in channeling a massive city shield. "To the walls, now!" someone boomed from one of the Citadel's towers: it took Kael a moment to realize that the voice was Krasus'. He glimpsed Rommath and Astalor among the evokers and illusionists racing to take their positions atop the city's perimeter wall, but the next moment the first attacks began to hit the shield.

Kael prided himself on his magical prowess, but he was entirely unprepared for the physical toll of the attack. Every time the shield was hit it created a concussive blast that rattled the bones in his arms and slammed into his chest so hard it knocked away his breath. As the battle went on his skull began to feel as though it was being pierced with metal spikes, but as he had seen several junior mages collapse—and suspected that it was primarily his efforts that were keeping the shield intact—he held on, throwing every last spark of his energy into the shield even when his vision began to blur.

He heard Antonidas say, "Rest for a moment, Prince Kael'thas. I will maintain the shield."

Gratefully, Kael staggered back to a stone bench, accepting a drought of mana-enhanced water. Every muscle in his body twitched and burned with exhaustion.

"They've taken the Runestone at Caer Darrow!"

"They've got dragons!"

"Quel'Thalas is ablaze!"

Kael looked around for whoever had shouted this scrap of news, but he saw no one.

He gritted his teeth and stood. He had to trust that the Farstriders would make the Amani and the orcs pay for whatever they were doing in Quel'Thalas, and so he resumed his station next to Antonidas.

"The shield will hold without you," Antonidas said quietly. "Go now, but return swiftly. After the battle I will have need of you."

.

Kael'thas had returned to Dalaran to find it smouldering. Places where buildings had once stood were marked by piles of stone and charred wood. Everywhere citizens had been tending the wounded, burying the dead, or searching the rubble for the missing.

Although he had been shaken and exhausted by the battles he had been taught that a true leader never shirked a task he would command of his followers, and so Kael had joined the brigade that was passing water up from the lake to quench lingering embers. He had lost track of how many buckets he had taken and passed when Archmage Antonidas had touched his shoulder and said, "Welcome back to Dalaran, Prince Kael'thas. The fires seem to be quite subdued, thanks to your efforts, and so I wonder if we might withdraw to your workshop to discuss a special project?"

In the three days since, Kael had worked around the clock, not sleeping and barely eating. He kept Rommath, Astalor, and anyone else who poked their head in busy retrieving broken weapons from the vaults; had a second table brought in to spread out his reference books and scrolls; and told his watchdog, "I know what you are and why you're here, but as I can't afford to sleep until this artifact is done make certain you and any of your replacements are well-rested. And do not hesitate to shake me if I drowse."

Late in the afternoon of the third day, as he picked shards of shattered crystal from his hands, he was startled to see Krasus in his doorway.

Krasus, whose smudged face and ragged, singed robes suggested that he too had been working non-stop since the attack, glared at Kael'thas. "Leave us," he said to the watchdog.

Kael nodded, and the watchdog slipped out the door.

"Krasus, I'm very busy at the —"

"So much empty talk about where your true loyalties are," Krasus began. "Not only did you flee — in the midst of battle! — the city you claimed you would defend with your life, but now you play at experiments while others shoulder the burden of repair!"

Kael was astounded.

"A dozen of your followers deserted the city as well!" Krasus continued, even more furious.

"I asked no one to accompany me," Kael said. He could feel magical energies building in Krasus, and he quickly prepared to defend himself should Krasus attack. "And I am working on — "

"Krasus!" Antonidas was in the doorway, radiating authority. "Stand down! The defenses Prince Kael'thas helped us create held for hours after he left, and at any rate it was I who gave him leave to fight those attacking Quel'Thalas. The few that followed him did not change the outcome of our battle here."

"Tell that to the wounded and the loved ones of the fallen," Krasus said as he turned and left.

Antonidas sighed. "We are all at the breaking point, it seems." He took in the fragments of crystal on the work table. "Difficulties?" he asked, sending a healing spell spiraling over Kael's lacerated hands.

"No success yet, but I'm getting close," Kael said. "Creating a focusing lens for dynamic channeling is a bit more complex than capturing an enchantment for storage. "

"The materials from the Order weren't useful?"

"They were," Kael said, "but the Tirisfalen used a living being to combine multiple streams of magic. Unfortunately, conjured artifacts have neither intelligence nor will."

"I see." Antonidas picked up a polished crystal sphere and peered at the faint swirl of trapped magic glinting at its center. and then put the glass sphere back onto its stand. "I have faith in you, Kael'thas," he said.

.

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20 Nov 2014; rev 11 May 2015


	5. The Assembly Chamber (Selin) 5

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: Kael'thas' first meetings with Jaina Proudmoore and Arthas Menethil._

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 5: The Assembly Chamber (Selin Fireheart), Part V<em><br>_**

__by silverr__

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><p><em>.<em>

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~ : |5| : ~

_Yes! I am a god! — _

_._

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The cruelest act is not to crush the egg in the nest: the cruelest is to rip the fledgling from the sky and tear its wings away once it has tasted the joy of flight.

.

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_E,_

_My apologies for not writing sooner. Dalaran has been a city besieged: we had no sooner rebuilt the city after the initial orc attack (using an artifact that allowed a hundred mages to work as one) when the alarm was again raised. This time, however, it was no earthly army that battered our walls, but a squad of undead necromancers, who had descended from the night sky on black dragons to take that very artifact from the most secret recess of the Arcane Vault. Four of us defeated nearly half their number before a vicious attack on the Archmage cost Sathera her life. In the chaos the leader of the attackers escaped with his prize._

_In less sorrowful news, the weekly meetings have resumed, although we have almost outgrown the inn's assembly hall; should our numbers continue to increase, we might need to commandeer the shore of Lake Lordamere._

_Finally — I was happy to hear that the soup and herb-water have been banished. I look forward to making the rounds with you on Ancestor's Day. (Rommath thinks that The Hat of D this year will be red, Astalor says green, but I remain convinced that violet will, as always, win the bet.)_

_Kt_

_P.S. I did indeed submit a formal complaint against the induction of Nathanos Marris as a Ranger-Lord. He let our forests burn, a crime for which I cannot forgive him._

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"Excuse me."

There was a young human at the door; she looked agitated.

"Can I help you?" Kael asked, glancing up from yet another translation for Kel'Thuzad.

"Master Antonidas sent me to find you," she said as she hurried into the room and held out a scroll. "This just arrived for you. We were told it was urgent."

The royal seal. He unrolled and read it, then recoiled in shock.

"What is it?" she asked.

"My brother ..." Kael said, and opened a portal to Quel'Thalas.

.

Thalorien and Lana'thel met him. "Thank the sun," Lana'thel said.

As they hurried to the pavilion Thalorien filled him in. Eldin had seemed almost completely recovered; he'd walked all the way to Dath'remar's monument just a few days before, and had hosted a dinner party with his closest friends in celebration of his victory over the illness. And then this morning Seyla awoke to find him convulsed with fever, a fever that was physically consuming him from the inside.

The crowd parted as Kael ran up the steps to the dais, and as he saw his brother he could not control his horror.

Emaciated, unable to speak, gasping for each breath as if drowning in the air, his eyes blind and sunken, Eldin seemed another being entirely. Kael took his place next to the bedside, standing with his father and siblings until Eldin's struggles finally ceased. Anasterian was as motionless as a statue as Kael began the Farewell; when it was done he ported away to grieve behind locked doors, and Seyla took the tiny jeweled dagger from her gown and sheared her hair in mourning.

As Thalorien, Lana'thel, and the rest of Eldin's honor guard stepped forward to prepare the body for burial, Kael made his way back toward the Sunspire. He wondered why so many faces who hadn't spoken to him in years were making a point of offering their condolences — and then it hit him. Tainted or not, with Nallorath and Eldin gone and Anasterian's other children barely out of childhood, he was now the eldest Sunstrider prince.

They disgusted him, and he could not wait to leave Quel'Thalas.

.

He buried himself in work when he returned to Dalaran, first methodically reviewing the entire catalog of weapons and ensuring that for each there was a sketch, notes on the location found and the history of the wielder (if known), a detailed analysis of the magical traces, whether or not they had been removed, what the yield was, and to what the extracted magic had been applied. When he had updated the catalogs he began repairing weapons — minor repairs of course, he was no blacksmith. He found such work soothing, demanding as it did his full attention with no stray thoughts. When he had no weapons to repair he worked on translating the many secondary magical encyclopedias and compendia — work almost as mind-numbing as weapon repair — and he always looked forward to seeing Kel'Thuzad approach with another tattered page to be deciphered.

Rommath, seeming to understand that Kael wished to be solitary, asked carefully if the weekly gatherings should be suspended for a time. Kael's first impulse was to say yes, but he shook his head. "It was at Eldin's request that I began our gatherings," he said. "It honors him for me to continue." Then too, Anasterian's decision to withdraw from the Alliance of Lordaeron — a decision that Kael fully supported, as he saw no reason why Quel'Thalas should pay to feed, clothe, and house the green monsters who had allied with the Amani to burn her forests — had raised tensions between human and elf. Kael's people needed to support each other, now more than ever.

.

"I was so sorry to hear of your loss." It was the young blonde mage who Antonidas had used as a messenger.

"Thank you."

"I had an older brother too," she said, coming into the workroom and perching on the anvil he used for the few repairs that did not require a forge.

"Had?"

"He died in the war," she said with astonishing calm. "Dragon riders killed him. I was only nine, but I packed my spellbook and a dagger in a bag and told my father I wanted to go avenge him."

"What did he say to that?"

"You know, I can't actually remember," she laughed. "He probably told me to go finish my studies and become a mage powerful enough to blast them out of the sky."

"And have you?"

"Not yet," she said, looking embarrassed. "What about you? Are you plotting vengeance?"

"Not unless there's a way to kill Death itself." She looked puzzled, and he realized that he was acting as if everyone in Dalaran knew every detail of his life. "My brother was born with a fatal disease, one with no cure."

"Oh ... how sad." She put her hand over her mouth, and it looked as though her eyes were brimming with tears.

It was strange to him that she would cry over over the death of a stranger she had never met. He looked down at the shield he was enchanting. Gryphons, lions, fluttering flags, crossed swords ... so much more ornate than Thalassian designs.

_Eldin ..._

He tightened his grip on the broken wand he had been using to power the enchantment, tightened until the splintered wood cut into his palms.

_... a pall, red and white and black, settling over the gold and green of Quel'Thalas' forests ..._

He thought he had experienced true sorrow when Nallorath died, and again when he lost his mother. Both times he had been filled with a howling, raging fury at the fate that had taken them, but what he had been feeling since Eldin's death was different, a creeping nothingness that had emptied his mind, numbed his senses, and turned everything he enjoyed to ash...

A burst of laughter from the street below came through the workroom window.

By the time he looked up the young mage had used a spell to whisk the shutters closed. Her kind, steady gaze seemed to say that she understood his grief completely. "Would you rather be alone?" she asked.

"No," he said, "I'd like it if you sat a while."

.

"May I come in?" Antonidas stood in the workroom doorway.

"Of course," Kael'thas said. "Please, sit down. Would you like some refreshment?"

"Mint tea, if you have it," he said, seating himself on the small brocade divan. "This is new," he said, patting the cushions.

Kael, pouring heated water over the leaves, said, "Yes, I ... ah, I thought it would be more enjoyable than the workroom's wooden benches and stools."

"Very thoughtful." Antonidas took the cup of tea Kael held out. "Smells delicious, thank you." He blew on the tea, took a tentative sip, then said, "I understand you've been spending time with my apprentice."

"Your apprentice?"

"Daelin Proudmoore's daughter," Antonidas said. "Jaina, Princess of Kul Tiras."

"Yes, she comes by once every week or two." Kael was reluctant to discuss the fact that Jaina chose to visit him, as if paying it too much attention would make it float away like dried flower petals in the wind. "I think she's decided that I'm lonely."

"Are you?"

"No," Kael said. "But it is pleasant to make new acquaintances now and again."

"What do you two do?"

"Sometimes we talk. More often she sits and reads while I work."

"Um-hm." Antonidas took another sip of tea. "Don't let her sweet face and kind heart fool you," he said. "She's reticent to show it, but she's enormously gifted. Quite rare to find that much power in one so young: I haven't seen the like since Khadgar — well, and Aegwynn, of course."

"She has that much power?" Kael asked.

"Not quite yet." Antonidas said, "but she will." He set the cup aside, looking as as though he had more to say.

"Is there anything else?" Kael prompted. He was experiencing a curious elation.

"Jaina's barely seventeen," Antonidas said, with a hint of scowl.

It took Kael a moment to understand what Antonidas was getting at. "Oh, I —!"

"Ah." Antonidas looked relieved. "Good." He retrieved his cup from the divan and drank off the last of the tea, then handed the empty cup to Kael'thas. "Thank you for clearing up the mystery of where Jaina disappears to; now I know your workroom should be the first place to look if we can't find her."

Even though Jaina was Antonidas' apprentice Kael surmised that she might have only limited access to the library of rare tomes, and so, telling himself that what he was doing was in the service of education, he began leaving a stacks of works he thought might appeal to her on the small table by the divan. Once she noticed them she started coming by more often; first twice a week, and then almost every day. He knew, of course, that her visits were now more motivated by her pursuit of magical knowledge then by a concern for his welfare, but this made her even more intriguing to him. To be so young, and to have such an appetite for learning new things… it was exceptional. It was almost amusing to see how intent she became when she read, so absolutely engrossed; he sometimes stopped working and watched her for minutes at a time. She tended to frown slightly when she encountered a difficult passage, but even then he found her utterly charming.

He knew he had become enamored when he realized that he was unwittingly adjusting his schedule so that he was always in the workroom during the early morning hours she was accustomed to come by. He accepted that the obstacles to a relationship with her were overwhelming, but rather than give up hope before even starting he preferred to focus on the few things that already connected them. They were both mages. They both loved learning. They both had lost siblings and a parent. They both came from royal families. It wasn't much, but it had established a friendship; with patience, it might grow into more. He began searching for a weapon he could enchant for her, something that he felt would suit her. He recalled cataloging an elegant quel'dorei dagger several centuries previously, and once he had found where it was stored he spent every night for a week locked in his workroom, carefully repairing and restoring it. At the last minute, realizing that the Silvermoon color scheme might make him seem too eager, he transmuted the gold to truesilver, and replaced the cabochon rubies and amber inlay in the handle with sapphires and mother-of-pearl.

It sat on his desk holding down a pile of parchment for several days before she noticed it.

"That's pretty."

"Oh, that?" He hid his elation, tried to sound indifferent. "You can have it, if you like." He picked it up by the blade and held it out to her, hilt first. "An elegant design, sculpted to fit the hand perfectly. Holding it is a joy. I could enchant it for you, if you like."

She took it, smiling. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." What was it about her that made him feel as though he himself was being transmuted into something finer, truer, almost resplendent? He wished he had a way to express this to her, but none of the languages he knew were adequate.

"They said you'd be here." A tall young man with shaggy hair stood in the doorway.

Jaina turned and said — with undisguised delight — "Oh, I didn't know you were coming!"

"I thought I'd surprise you." The young man stepped close to her. "What's this?" he asked, lifting her hand to look at the dagger. "A brooch?"

"It's a gift," Jaina said, turning to smile at Kael. "Arthas, this is Kael'thas Sunstrider."

Arthas inclined his head slightly, then turned back to Jaina, his hand still cupped under hers. "Isn't this dagger too girly for you? I thought you liked staves."

"Arthas ... " Kael said, feeling a twist of annoyance. "Are you Terenas Menethil's son?"

"I am." Arthas replied without taking his eyes from Jaina — and why would he, when she was looking up at him in such a fashion? "Why don't you stop bothering this old elf," Arthas said softly to her, "and come riding with me?"

"You can't expect me to drop everything and run off just because you showed up," she said, but she was only pretending to be cross: she hadn't taken her hand out of Arthas'.

"You're distracting him from important... reading and annotation," Arthas said, leaning toward her.

Increasingly annoyed with both of them, Kael'thas said, "I assure you, I'm proficient with every weapon here."

Arthas turned and gave Kael his full attention for the first time since he'd entered the room. His eyes flicked up and down, as if taking Kael's measure. "I'll take your word for it," he said, with the hint of a smirk.

Normally Kael would have shrugged off such rudeness, attributing it to the prince's youth, but to be dismissed as inconsequential in front of Jaina made him unreasonably angry. "I'll prove it," he said.

"All right." Arthas was now almost laughing. "If you insist."

"Oh, don't do this." Jaina, exasperated, seemed to be addressing them both.

Ignoring her, Arthas said, "I'll even wait while you go get your weapon."

"No need," Kael replied. "As I said, I can use any weapon in this room."

Jaina folded her arms and sat on the divan, scowling.

"Pick something then," Arthas said as he pushed the divan — with Jaina still on it — across the room to the far wall.

Kael looked over the pile of weapons in the corner and chose a well-made longsword. Gripping it with both hands, he turned to face Arthas.

Arthas, smiling faintly, had picked up a battered, much shorter sword, which he was swinging loosely in one hand.

"Why are you doing this?" Jaina said.

"Because we must," Arthas said. "Kael'thas and I understand each other."

"Well, I'm not you," Jaina said, "Explain it to me."

"Only cowards refuse a challenge," Arthas said.

"Or those who think they're so far superior to the challenger that defeating them would be demeaning," Kael'thas added.

Kael knew himself to be an excellent swordsman; he had trained since boyhood and had acquitted himself well both on the battlefield and while sparring with Thalorien. However, the moment he saw the sword in Arthas' hand he knew that neither trolls nor friends had prepared him for this duel. He had assumed that Arthas would choose a longsword — to take advantage of its reach — but that Arthas had taken such an inferior sword either meant that he was confident that he would win, or that he was very foolish.

Arthas was arrogant, but he wasn't a fool.

Kael lunged: anticipating that Arthas would parry, he quickly shifted the angle of his attack and came in for a strike that would have laid open Arthas' side ... if it had connected.

Arthas, who had sidestepped, grinned. "Not bad for an old man in a dress," he said. "How are you at defense?" he asked, moving in and laying down three ringing blows that took all of Kael's skill to block. He finished by slamming the pommel of his sword down on Kael's forearm: an instant later the flat of his blade was pressed against the side of Kael's neck.

"Stop it!" Jaina ran to pull at Arthas' arm. She was furious. "You don't have to do this!"

"No," Arthas said. "I don't." He stepped back, lowering his weapon and holding his arms out to his sides as if offering himself up. Daring Kael to do something dishonorable.

Kael tossed his sword aside.

"Let's go," Arthas said to Jaina, and left.

Jaina threw Kael a puzzled glance, then followed Arthas out into the hall. Kael heard her say something in an angry whisper; her words weren't intelligible, but Arthas' reply was. "His weaknesses aren't my responsibility."

_Someday,_ Kael silently vowed, _someday, I will crush you._

.

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_~ Next up: As the attack on Vexallus commences,  
>Kael recalls fighting the Scourge invasion after the destruction of the Sunwell,<br>the end of his tenure in Dalaran after the summoning of Archimonde,  
>and his first meetings with Lady Vashj, Maiev, Tyrande, and the Stormrage brothers. ~<em>

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_._

Special thanks to **Stinger** for help on the characterization of Arthas, and to **JackofNone** for help with the swordfight scene.

I also want to recommend what I consider one of most exquisite Warcraft oneshots I've ever read: **ivoryandhorn**'s Gifts (which can be found on Ao3). If I have managed to achieve even a _third_ of its power in my own Jaina-and-Kael scenes, I'll consider my writing a success.

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first post 25 Mar 2014; rev 14 June 2015


	6. The Halls of Theory (Vexallus) 1

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: As the "heroes" defeat Selin Fireheart and press onward to Vexallus, Kael'thas reminisces about Kel'Thuzad's banishment, the coming of the plague to Lordaeron, and Jaina's departure for lands unknown._

Author's Note: Timeline and events based on the Undead campaign in _Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos,_ the Sentinel and Alliance campaigns in _Warcraft III: The Frozen Throne,_ the short story "Road to Damnation," and the novella _Blood of the Highborne._

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 6: The Halls (Vexallus), Part I<br>**

_by silverr_

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><p>.<p>

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~ : |6| : ~

** _I am invincible!_ **

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Invincible? No, Selin, obviously you were not.

But these adventurers think they defeated you… How ridiculous.

In truth, Selin, you were doomed to defeat long before these five buffoons arrived on Quel'Danas. You were always blinded by impulse and desire. I do not know if you were truly unable to see the faults in those you worshipped, or whether you saw them but willingly blinded yourself. Not that it matters. Whether it sees the strings or chooses to ignore them, a puppet is a puppet.

I don't expect these self-styled 'heroes' to pay attention to what I'm saying, of course, busy as they are with stealing shiny baubles from the assembly chamber, but no matter: brutes and thieves rarely understand the concept of mastering one's self. When to use strengths, when to rein in weaknesses — that is the measure of true power. That is what determines whether one is the controller or that which is controlled. You cannot control your fate unless you have first learned to control yourself. Without such mastery, emotions cloud the ability to distinguish between what one can use, or change, or have… and what one cannot.

.

.

It had been like the way one perceives an approaching storm: one might note far-off clouds, be aware of the loss of warmth as they encroach the sun, but usually it isn't until snow stings or rain drenches that the threat becomes real.

In retrospect, the harbinger had been six years ago, when Arthas Menethil had appeared to steal Jaina from Kael's workshop. The incident with Arthas marked the end of Jaina's visits and the beginning of her frequent absences from Dalaran; after that day, whenever Kael asked Antonidas where Jaina had gone to, "Travelling," was the only answer the archmage ever gave. The few times that Kael did see Jaina in Dalaran she was always accompanied by Arthas — and looked happy — so after a year Kael had morosely packed away the volumes on elemental mastery and advanced transmutation that he'd put on his bookshelves specifically for her reference and accepted that she was lost to him.

Three years ago the Kirin Tor had been stunned by the revelations about Kel'Thuzad. That the human had likely used the documents Kael had translated for him as the basis of his horrifying necromantic experiments had left Kael so sick with guilt that, after Kel'Thuzad's trial and expulsion from Dalaran, he had gone to Antonidas and offered to withdraw from the Six.

"What, and leave me with two vacant seats on the Council instead of one?" the old archmage had laughed. "I appreciate your honesty, Kael'thas," Antonidas had said, "but from the first I have maintained that you were an unwitting accomplice in this matter."

Kael had taken this to mean that another of the Six — most likely Krasus or Modera — had wanted to oust him along with Kel'Thuzad. Not that they or Runeweaver had any real reason for antagonism toward him; of all the Six, it was actually he and Antonidas who had been at loggerheads most often, primarily over the issue of the orc internment camps, and yet Antonidas always treated him with respect and what seemed to be genuine affection. Grateful, Kael had felt it was imperative that he demonstrate to Antonidas that his trust was not misplaced. "I realize now that I should have demanded to know the source of the fragments Kel'Thuzad brought me," Kael had said. "I should have challenged him to explain how the materials were relevant to his research. I won't make such an error again!"

"It wasn't just you who misjudged him," Antonidas had replied. "We all missed the signs. I suppose none of us wanted to believe that a trusted colleague had chosen such a dark path."

"Do we know where he has gone? What he's doing?"

"I'm told he sold all his holdings in Lordaeron," Antonidas had said, rubbing his eyes wearily, "for a substantial sum of gold, but both it and he have disappeared. My agents lost him in the Dragonblight after tracking him to Northrend; they fear he eluded them by hiding in the tunnels that lead to the subterranean ruins of the ancient spider kingdom."

"Azjol-Nerub?"

Antonidas had nodded. "If true, he's likely already met a fate far worse than any punishment we could have inflicted."

"It's no less than he deserves," Kael had said.

.

A few weeks after Kel'Thuzad's departure Astalor had come to Kael with news. "Prince Arthas Menethil and Princess Jaina Proudmoore have broken off their engagement," Astalor had said without preamble. "They're announced that they're going to 'pursue their studies' — as if anyone would believe such a fiction! Clearly she's finally tired of his boorish human ways."

Kael — who had carefully suppressed his reaction to the news — had been quite surprised by Astalor's sudden interest in twenty-year old Jaina's personal life: in the past Astalor had always seemed bored whenever Jaina was mentioned. "Boorish? I wouldn't go that far."

"Certainly you're not defending him? He attacked you!"

"He was ... a teenager, showing off for Lady Proudmoore. It was a mock duel. Neither of us took it seriously."

"How can you say that when he put his sword to your throat? He could have killed you! It was only Jaina's intervention that stopped him."

Kael had been disappointed that Astalor knew such details, as it meant that Rommath had broken a confidence, but that was a matter he could take up with Rommath later. "Yes, that is true; nevertheless, characterizing Prince Arthas as coarse and bloodthirsty is ... inaccurate."

Astalor, looking sceptical, had shrugged. "If you say so, my lord."

"It's also an insult to Lady Proudmoore's judgment and intelligence, as he was the one she... chose to spend time with." Under the circumstances, Kael felt as though he could afford to be generous. "Prince Arthas is arrogant and hot-tempered, to be sure, but that's likely a common fault in humans his age. Mehlar says that the Grand Master of the Silver Hand speaks well of him; from what I've heard, this amounts to high praise, as Lord Uther's regard is not easily won."

Astalor had considered Kael for a moment, then said, "You are an enigma, my prince." Pressing his lips together — presumably to demonstrate that he was suppressing further comment — he had given a small bow and hurried off.

Kael had been puzzled by this behavior, as in general Astalor freely displayed his curiosity and enthusiasm for anything that caught his interest. In this, Kael thought with a smile, Astalor himself was much closer in temperament to Jaina than to Rommath, whose words and actions were so controlled that his moods were almost impossible to gauge. Not that Rommath and Astalor were complete opposites: both were dedicated and resolute once they had set a goal, but where Rommath was as quietly implacable as granite, Astalor had the raucous energy of a deluge. Kael valued them both, because they complemented each other so well; one was an immoveable object, and the other an unstoppable force.

The question remained, however: why had Jaina caught Astalor's interest? Kael was certain that Astalor wasn't interested in her for himself, but neither was it plausible that Astalor had passed on the information in order to encourage Kael to pursue her. Astalor couldn't know of Kael's feelings: not only had he never revealed them to anyone, not even to Eldin (at least not in so many words), he had been extremely circumspect in his public dealing with her. Kael suspected that Antonidas had intuited his true feelings, but the topic had never been discussed outright.

Well, what was important was the news itself. Was possible that a return to intense study might mean a resumption of Jaina's visits to his workshop? She was older now: perhaps the difference in their ages — which as far as he could tell was the major objection humans seemed to have against relationships with elves — was less of a deterrent? In anticipation of the reference works she might need to consult at this point in her training he had rearranged the books in his library in order to clear two shelves for the works on elemental magic and transmutation that he had packed away three years before. Dissatisfied with the selection, he had bought or borrowed two dozen additional advanced texts to display at eye level. He acquired new cushions for the reading couch, stocked the tea that Jaina had favored, and held as many of his meetings and consultations in his workshop as possible to ensure that he would be there if she came by.

But Jaina did not rcome by; in fact, he rarely saw her at all, and never alone. Most often she was with either Antonidas or Modera, looking studiously solemn. The few times she did take notice of him, she nodded politely before turning away.

Day after day, the sight of those untouched books saddened him; then came the day he finally gave into an impulse, snatching a book from the shelf and gripping it as if, if he only held it tightly enough, it would yield its secrets to him. When the smooth leather began to discolor and char under his fingertips he tossed the book into the air and obliterated it with a blast of fire. It was only then, as ash and tiny glowing sparks floated down onto his regretful hands, that he came to a still moment of utter calm, and decided that it was best after all to leave the books he had gathered for her on his shelves as they were, in order not to forget that she did not reciprocate his feelings, that there were some things beyond the reach of princes and kings, and that only fools raged against that which they could not change.

.

It was inevitable, Kael supposed, that anyone living among non-elves for a significant period of time would assimilate their ways. In general this was enjoyable, adding a variety of new experiences to be savored: the exuberance of human music and literature, the intricacies of gnomish inventions, the brusque simplicity of dwarven foods and beverages.

But there were other, less pleasant aspects, the most insidious of which was the way his perception of time had gradually been warped to the human scale. Centuries ago, when his life had been uncomplicated and blissfully full, he'd barely noticed the years fly by; each day had been like a breath, a deep, satisfying breath of new knowledge, new experiences… but now, now that he'd somehow made the transition to human-time, all too often the hours of the day pressed down on him. On such days his existence felt nebulously painful, as if he was struggling to breathe.

It didn't help that Dalaran itself felt emptier with each passing day. Where once there had once been throngs on the streets and in the plazas day and night, strolling and laughing and crowding around the many vendor stalls and street-side shops, now the city often looked deserted. The Council of Six had held a number of meetings over the past few years to discuss the causes of this decline: their consensus was that it was a consequence of the orc attack that had almost destroyed the city fourteen years before. "The long-term damage the war inflicted upon our citizenry's confidence," the report read, "was apparently far more extensive and much less amenable to magical mending than the stonework." This damage had taken a number of years to manifest fully: those who left immediately after the end of the war were primarily those who had been injured or lost loved ones in the attack and who, quite understandably, wanted to escape painful memories. There had also been a handful of skittish business owners who, despite being reassured that the city would be rebuilt in a week, said they needed to move out of Dalaran "temporarily" because they felt vulnerable with the city's outer walls in ruins. As expected, they never returned, which apparently sparked a gradually escalating downward spiral; every business that closed seemed to set off a small exodus of their customers, and as more and more residents left the city so did the businesses that tended to them.

In Kael's opinion, however, it wasn't just the war that was to blame for Dalaran's woes, but the proximity of the orc internment camps. Not that he supported those who wanted to slaughter the imprisoned orcs wholesale, but he didn't understand why so few favored the idea of using them as laborers until such time as the Kirin Tor could find a way to send them back to their homeworld without reconstructing Medivh's portal. As it now stood, however, the camps were both a danger and a financial drain on Lordaeron and the surrounding kingdoms. When one added to this the increasingly odd rumors of ritual murders in northern Lordaeron, it was no wonder that so many non-Kirin Tor human faces that Kael had grown accustomed to were gone from Dalaran.

Ironically, the city's quel'dorei were thriving. The society Kael had founded continued to grow, due in no small part to Tenris and Atherann's mission of "staunching Dalaran's hemorrhage" (as they put it) by traveling frequently to Quel'Thalas and inviting elves to visit Dalaran and experience "freedom from restrictive traditions and prejudices."

Kael was conflicted by their approach. While he himself had come to Dalaran to escape the scrutiny of those who would have criticized his interest in studying non-elven magic and culture, he felt as though the recruiters were sending the message that Kael wanted to undermine the quel'dorei's most ancient traditions… and by extension, the authority of King Anasterian.

That anyone would think this of him was horrifying, and so he discussed his concern with Rommath, who had become, not just an advisor, but friend, confessor, and confidante. Rommath assured him that, as he was not personally involved in the recruiting, no one would see it as an attempt to subvert his father.

"But how can they not? If they act in my name — that is no different than if I were there myself!"

"I disagree," Rommath said. "It is far different for a subordinate to say, 'Come to Dalaran, and if you are lucky someday you may join the Prince's circle,' than it is for a prince to say 'Join me.' The first is a social interaction between equals or near equals; the second will likely be seen as a strategic political move, acquiring allies and followers, building an army."

"I see." Kael shook his head. "What would I do without you, Rommath? Your diplomatic skills outstrip even your magecraft."

"There's no need to flatter me, your highness." Rommath always became either defensive or excessively formal when embarrassed — and sometimes both.

"Will you also accuse me of flattery if I say that I value your objectivity?" Kael asked with a smile.

"Of course not."

Despite looking discomfited, Kael knew Rommath was pleased. "Then it's settled," Kael said. "Tenris and Atherann can do as they see fit. I do, however, intend to personally invite one special person to join us in Dalaran."

"Oh? Who?"

"Seyla."

"Your brother's betrothed?" Rommath's expression was a solemn mask again.

"Yes," Kael said. "She might welcome the chance to leave Quel'Thalas and its painful associations behind." Kael had another reason for wanting Seyla in Dalaran, a less honorable one: he was hoping that spending time with her, remembering her connection to Eldin, might ease his own grief and help him feel more grounded.

.

When news came in that a band of orcs had attacked the internment camps and freed their comrades, many worried that the next target would be Dalaran. However, rather than retaliating for their imprisonment the orcs — both liberators and liberated — had disappeared.

Hoping to glean clues about where they might have gone and what they might be doing, Kael'thas and his inner circle had studied Antonidas' treatises on orc society. Other than admiring the thoroughness of the Archmage's research into orc history and culture — and his unexpectedly comprehensive knowledge of the effects of fel magic — Kael wasn't any closer to an understanding of the orcs' behavior. Theraldis theorized that rumors of the mysterious sickness in eastern Lordaeron had caused fear to dissuade them from the temptation of easy pickings, while Vanthryn thought the orcs had either been captured by or joined the death cults that supposedly operated in the same area. Kael, who recognized that both explanations were plausible, decided to ask Antonidas' opinion on the matter.

The Archmage's spacious outer office was a dedicated library, the largest in Dalaran. In the center of the high-ceilinged room was a large table, piled as always with assorted scrolls, tomes, bottles of elixir, and magical implements that shimmered in the midday sunlight slanting down from the skydome. The walls surrounding the table were a thicket of back-to-back bookshelves, the space between them so cramped and shadowed that it took Kael a moment to notice that someone was perusing the collection.

The blonde woman wasn't dressed like a typical mage; rather than a robe, she wore trousers and a white shirt. Oddly enough she appeared to be taking inventory; first she would consult a sheet of parchment in her hand, then take a book from the shelf and page through it before replacing it. Curious, Kael silently watched as she did this four times; the fifth book apparently met her approval, as she carried it to the table. It wasn't until she sat down next to a hooded Kirin Tor cloak draped on a chair that Kael recognized her.

"I almost didn't notice you back there in the shadows," he said softly.

Jaina looked up. "Hello, Kael'thas."

She looked older than the last time he had seen her, older and tired. There were scratches on her hands, and what looked like soot on her face; her eyes were tinged with pink. Kael wanted to ask about it, but the past six years had put too much distance between them to ask such a question without preamble. "Borrowing some books?" he asked.

"Yes." She took up a quill, crossed out four lines on her list, and then made a checkmark by a fifth before going back to the shelves.

Seeing her made Kael wonder, for the thousandth time, if things would have have been any different between them if she had been older when they first met. He knew it was pointless speculation, of course: if she had been older, if they had met a thousand years ago when Kael too was a student. If she had never met Arthas. "Reading material for a trip?" he asked.

"Something like that," she murmured, frowning at the list and then coming back to the table to make another notation.

Kael knew that people who had once had a romantic involvement often renewed their relationship after a period of time apart. Had Jaina and Arthas reunited? Perhaps even gone a step further, and decided to elope? "Honeymoon with Prince Arthas?" he asked lightly, thinking it was a reasonable assumption.

Startled, Jaina looked up at him for a heartbeat, then began moving the pile of books into a large ironbound strongbox. "No," she said tightly.

Kael was astonished: he'd had no idea the question would upset her! If she and Arthas were _not_ together, her reaction most likely meant that she still carried a torch for him? Perhaps they had tried to renew their relationship, only to run into difficulties? Or — was what he had taken for soot on her face actually a _bruise? _ If Menethil had hit her, Kael would annihilate him. "Jaina, what's wrong?"

"Nothing that concerns you," she said, turning away from him. She went to the far wall, pretending to look through the titles on the lowest shelf of the furthest bookcase, but Kael could tell that she was trying to discreetly wipe away tears.

He was horrified: what had he done? He wished he could take back his words… or at least say _Whatever you need, you have but to ask and it is yours,_ but he knew he hadn't earned the right to comfort her. Seeing her like this made him realize how superficial his perception of her had always been, how one-dimensional. How arrogant he had been to think he understood her! It was as if he had been in love not with an actual woman, but with the image of a woman. In that moment, Jaina suddenly became infinitely real to him, with so many more facets than 'eager student' and 'playful girl' and 'compassionate human' he'd mentally characterized her with before. His old feelings for her flared up in an entirely new way, humbling him, making him want to get to know her, if not as a lover, than at least as a friend.

"Why are you here?" she asked. She continued to move books on the shadowed shelf around, as if she could not bear to look at him.

He did not blame her; however inadvertently, he had intruded on her pain. "I came to ask Antonidas if he knew where the orcs have gone," he said.

"He left this morning, with Modera," she said, coming back toward the table. "I assumed it was to convene an emergency Council meeting."

"There is no meeting that I know of," Kael said, "Why would he call one?"

"Why the sudden interest in orcs?" Jaina asked, avoiding Kael's question. She carefully moved two volumes of the Dire Histories from the table into the box. "You've never cared before where they came from or what they are truly like. You'd be happiest if they were all dead."

"Yes, I spoke harshly against them in the past," he said, "but I've been reading Antonidas' treatises. If he's correct, and the orcs' initial aggressiveness truly was due to corrupting influences, then I agree that perhaps they be deserve to be approached with compassion —" He was cut off by her disbelieving look. "It's true!" he said, slightly hurt. "Haven't I always said it would be best if they returned to where they came from?" He paused. "Is that what's happened? Did they somehow undo Khadgar's work and reactivate the portal?"

"No," Jaina said. "I'm pretty sure they plan to cross the sea to Kalimdor." She was paging through a sheaf of notes. "But you don't really care where they go, do you? As long as they're no longer here."

"Yes," Kael said, knowing how much Jaina valued honesty. "It's enough for me to know that they won't be threatening Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas anymore."

"That's selfish," she said.

"If it is selfish to want to protect one's home, then yes, I am selfish."

She raised an eyebrow. "You consider Lordaeron your home?"

"Most certainly," he said. "It is as much my home as Quel'Thalas."

"Then why aren't you doing more to fight the plague?"

"We offered to put the affected villages under quarantine," Kael replied, "but King Terenas forbid it." _Perhaps you should question him,_ Kael added silently. "Our priests have been working with the Church of the Light in Stormwind, studying the victims in order to find a cure. I don't know what else we — what I — could do."

"A cure," Jaina said, but she wasn't speaking to him. She shook her head. "I have to go," she said. "I'm going to write up a report for Antonidas; will you give it to him as soon as he returns?"

"Of course."

She took three fresh sheets of parchment, wrote without stopping for several minutes, and then folded the report around the book list she had annotated.

"Six years ago, the day we met, you gave me a letter," Kael said. "Now you are giving me another one. I trust this one contains happier news?"

Jaina held the folded pages as if hesitant to relinquish them.

Kael realized that she was afraid he'd read it: this misjudgment hurt him more than anything she'd ever said or done. "Allow me," he said. He took a taper from one of the room's candelabra and pinched the wick into flame. "Refold your report so that we can seal it properly, princess. It is a royal missive, after all."

She looked annoyed but also amused. "You are too much," she said as she watched Kael tilt the candle to drip wax onto the parchment; when a sufficient amount had built up she turned her hand over and pressed her ring into the soft blob. "Satisfied?"

"Perfectly." Kael took the report. "Jaina — " he began, but as she looked up at him apprehensively, her smile gone, he realized that there never had been, never would be, the right time to say the things he had always wanted to say to her. "You are welcome to raid the library in my workroom," he said instead, taking a key from his pocket. "I'll be waiting here for Antonidas, so you'll have the place all to yourself. No need to leave a list of what you take."

"All right." She took the key. "Thank you."

.

After Jaina portaled out of the library — he had a brief glimpse of furled sails and a dock at her destination — he settled down to wait.

Reading was impossible; pacing only made him more fretful; all he could bring himself to do was sit and watch the passage of shadows across the wall as afternoon crept toward evening. He felt an oppressive sense of dread, of foreboding, similar to what he had felt when he'd last seen Eldin, only this time it was accompanied by an almost paralyzing fear, as if he were a wretched creature caught in a trap, too exhausted to struggle.

It was nearly dusk when Antonidas appeared, stepping through a shimmer. "And here you are, just as Jaina said."

"You saw her?"

"Yes, we crossed paths at the city portal," Antonidas held out Kael's workroom key. "I believe this is yours?"

"Yes." Kael took the key and handed Jaina's report to Antonidas. "And this is for you."

"Ah, yes. Thank you." Antonidas broke the seal and began to read. When he was finished he refolded the pages, his expression unreadable.

"So she's left Dalaran?" Kael asked. He was eager to return to his workshop and see which of his books Jaina had taken, but it would be impolite to rush off. "Will — will she be back soon?"

"Jaina," Antonidas said, "is the least of my concerns at the moment." He moved his scrying bowl onto his desk and conjured water into it. "We need to convene an emergency meeting of the full Council as soon as possible."

"The full Council? Why? What has happened?"

"Ten days ago," Antonidas said, rocking the bowl until the water began to swirl, "I sent Jaina to Brill to investigate that illness that's been striking villages in northern Lordaeron. She discovered that it's no ordinary sickness, but a plague developed by our former associate, Kel'Thuzad."

"Kel'Thuzad?" Kael was certain that Antonidas had misspoke. "But — he died in Northrend!"

"Apparently he did not," Antonidas said. "He returned to Lordaeron in secret and gathered malcontents interested in necromantic magic. They caused the plague by poisoning crops, including all of the grain that went to Andorhal's distribution warehouses."

"He — he must be caught and punished for this! Hundreds will become infected and die!"

"Hundreds have already died," Antonidas said wearily, "among them the entire city of Stratholme, which was put to the torch to prevent the plague's victims from rising as undead."

"Why? Why would Kel'Thuzad do such a thing?" Kael asked, horrified.

"Before Arthas Menethil executed him, Kel'Thuzad said that the demonic nathrezim plan to scour the living from our land." Antonidas gripped the sides of his scrying bowl. "They'll soon discover that Lordaeron isn't so easily scoured!" Antonidas took a deep breath, then continued. "Arthas has sworn vengeance on the demon responsible."

"Is that where Jaina went? With Arthas?"

Antonidas looked at him sharply. "No, she has taken it upon herself to lead the uninfected to a place of safety."

"Across the sea to Kalimdor?"

Antonidas frowned. "I certainly hope not. The orcs may have been influenced by that deranged individual who invaded Terenas' court with dire warnings about 'shadow and flame,' but both Jaina and Arthas are too level-headed to take such sensational nonsense seriously."

"Yet in retrospect," Kael said carefully,"doesn't it seem his words came true?"

"I don't see how you can come to that conclusion," Antonidas said, "unless you claim that the plague is the 'shadow,' and 'flame' refers to the burning of Stratholme?" Antonidas raised an eyebrow. "Then again, there are both flames and shadows when I sit by the fire at night, but I hardly think my reading habits warrant stampeding the populace." He swirled the water again, and then spoke down into it. "Emergency Council meeting. Return at once." He added, "If that so-called prophet did indeed foresee Kel'Thuzad's plans, giving us more detailed information would have saved hundreds of lives."

_A pall, red and black, falls over the gold and green of Quel'Thalas' forests…_

Kael looked down at the key in his hand. "So Jaina is leading a group of refugees to a new home? A difficult undertaking."

"Don't underestimate her," Antonidas said. "She is very capable. If she put her mind to it, I've no doubt she could command the Kul Tiras fleet."

"I — we all would rest easier knowing that she is not shouldering such a burden alone."

After a pause Antonidas said gently, "Kael'thas… there is no path to her heart for you."

It was painful to hear this stated so frankly: Kael acknowledged that Antonidas understood Jaina better than anyone in Dalaran, probably even better than her own father. "I know," he said, "but I will never stop being concerned for her well-being."

"No one would ask you to," Antonidas said, dissipating the water in the scrying bowl. He created a teleportation rune for the Chamber of Air. "The others are on their way. I want to begin as soon as they arrive."

"I'll be there in a moment," Kael said. "I need to consult a book in my workshop first."

.

At first he thought the heavy twilight in his workshop was deceiving him, and so he lit first one and then a half-dozen lamps, but they all showed him the same sight: his library was untouched. Jaina hadn't taken a single book; in fact, it didn't appear that she had even looked at them, as the dust on the shelves and the tops of the books was undisturbed. This wasn't entirely unexpected, he told himself: the Archmage's library was extensive, Jaina was well along in her training and hardly a student anymore, so it was possible that she'd acquired or otherwise referenced all the volumes he'd bought especially for her years ago. Still, he thought that she'd have taken at least one… His face stinging as if he'd been physically slapped, Kael turned to see that Jaina had, however, left something. In the center of his worktable was an object wrapped in red velvet. Suspecting what it was as soon as he picked it up, with a sick heart Kael unwrapped the cloth to see the antique quel'dorei dagger of transmuted truesilver, inlaid with sapphires and mother-of-pearl, that Jaina had accepted as a gift from him six years before—just moments before Arthas Menethil had invaded his workroom.

.

Kael was silent during the Council meeting, the roaring in his ears blurring all meaning in the streams of discussion flowing around him. Not even Krasus' piercing glare fazed him, but then again why should it? Krasus too was quel'dorei, and so was certainly capable of describing the efforts Silvermoon's priests were making to cure the plague.

After Antonidas announced that they would be re-convening the following afternoon, Kael went to his chambers. As he locked the door he wondered what his father Anasterian had done each time he had shut himself away to grieve. Had he raged? Had he numbed himself with drink, the way lesser races did? Or had he simply sat, unmoving, as silent tears coated his throat and soaked his robes?

Unfortunately, unlike a king's, a prince's privacy was not always respected. It was only a few hours before he heard the first discreet knocks on his door, the first murmurs of worry in the hall. He ignored them as long as he could, but when the light taps became pounding and the whispers began to sour into argument he knew there was no use pretending that he couldn't hear. Feeling more or less purged of his misery (and somewhat ashamed at its excess), he composed himself and opened his door. Rommath and Astalor. If any of the others — Lana'thel, Sandoval, the twins — had been with them Kael would have kept up the mask of impersonal distance that he felt a prince should wear for his subjects, and would have sent them away, but these two he considered friends. He invited them in, smiled at their small talk, and finally, after admitting that he was in some distress, told them an abbreviated version of the story of his love. It wasn't as deep a confession as he would once have made to Eldin, but nevertheless they way they listened, solemn and unjudging, left Kael feeling gratifyingly unburdened.

After they left he went to sleep. A few hours later the knocking came again.

It was Rommath, but this time he was alone. Looking surprisingly disheveled—and smelling of Brightsong wine—when Kael invited him in Rommath clumsily knelt and emphatically pledged his life to Kael. "I will do anything for you, my prince," Rommath had said. "Anything you ask of me. Anything to ease your pain." He repeated this over and over.

Kael, disconcerted by this uncharacteristic outburst and unsure of its cause, thanked Rommath for his loyalty and tried to disengage himself, but it wasn't until Rommath threw his arms around Kael's knees and looked up at him with raw longing that Kael realized precisely what was being offered. "Please, my lord. Please. Let me comfort you." Attempting to handle the situation tactfully, Kael suggested that Rommath go back to the rooms he shared with Astalor. "Tomorrow," Kael said, helping Rommath to stand, "tomorrow we can discuss how you can best serve me." It was a difficult situation, to be sure, and Kael did not envy the mortification Rommath would feel when he was once again sober, but nevertheless Kael felt it important to reject Rommath more gently than he himself had been rejected. He did not want to lose him — or Astalor, for that matter.

As it turned out, by the time Kael'thas saw Rommath again far more important events overshadowed any lingering awkwardness between them, and as time passed the incident receded more and more until the memory seemed more a dream than something that had actually happened.

.

.

29 Oct 2014; rev 15 Feb 2015.


	7. The Halls of Theory (Vexallus) 2

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: With Kel'Thuzad dead and Prince Arthas in Northrend hunting down the instigators of the plague, the Council of Six leads the initiative to eradicate the Scourge from Lordaeron._

Timeline and events based on the Undead campaign in _Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos,_ the Sentinel and Alliance campaigns in _Warcraft III: The Frozen Throne,_ the short story "Road to Damnation," and the novella _Blood of the Highborne._

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 7: The Halls (Vexallus), Part II<br>**

_by silverr_

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><p>.<p>

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~ : |7| : ~

_Drain ... life ..._

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Tell me, brave adventurers ... if you knew what you would have to defeat before you faced me, would it deter you?

No need to answer. I'm sure you would say, "Of course not! We are heroic champions of all that is good and noble! We shall not waver! We shall triumph over evil!" Don't try to deny it—all those who think of themselves as heroes say such. Still, you're probably thinking that if you did know what was ahead you could prepare your defences, your tactics and strategies.

I could just let you charge blindly into the Halls and watch as your ignorance destroys you ... but it might be more entertaining to supply you with the truth instead. Of course you won't believe me, thinking I'm luring you down a false trail. Kael'thas the Mad. Kael'thas the Wretched. Kael'thas the Hateful.

How very wrong you are.

Vexallus is an arcane elemental who will give you power — and then use that power to destroy you. Summoned by accident, its unexpected appearance destroyed a half-dozen of my most talented arcanists, all of whom were extremely experienced in elemental studies and interdimensional teleportation. Like you, they knew there was danger in their undertaking; like you, they took what they probably thought were appropriate precautions; and, like you, their arrogance sealed their fate.

So, be my guest. Believe me or not; take heed or discard what I say. Whatever you choose, whatever you do, you are doomed.

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Kael'thas had known Antonidas for a very long time and considered him an exemplary mage and scholar, but his opening remarks to the Council of Six the following day displayed his mettle as the leader.

"Those who have chosen to remain in the uninfected areas of Lordaeron," Antonidas began, "have rightly been concerned that the plague will spread. From the very beginning this Council has proposed measures to contain and combat the disease, but in the past ... those suggestions were rejected."

"And now?" Runeweaver asked.

"King Terenas' councilors," Antonidas said, "remembering our recommendation to quarantine the affected villages for study, have recently requested our aid. Given the information that has recently come to light about the genesis of the plague of undeath, I have pledged the efforts of this Council and the nation of Dalaran to heal Lordaeron's citizens and coordinate the efforts to eradicate the Scourge from her lands."

"Terenas' councilors?" Modera said. "I see. They assured you that Terenas now gives our efforts his full support, did they?"

Antonidas said carefully, "The suffering of his people these past months has weighed heavily on the king. Now that his own son, Prince Arthas, has left for Northrend on a dangerous mission to hunt down the instigators of the Scourge, is it not understandable that Terenas' advisors wish to lighten his burden?" Antonidas then directed the Council to reconvene in the meeting room of the inn, where various groups were to present information and advice relevant to the plague.

As Kael'thas entered the meeting room he saw that the room's small tables had been pushed together to make one large one in the center of the room. It seemed a fitting symbolic gesture for the diverse gathering, which included elven and human priests, landholders (presumably from areas adjacent to the affected farms and villages), a dozen or so armored soldiers, and a lone dwarf dressed in an outlandishly elaborate robe.

As the participants dragged chairs to the table and began to seat themselves around the table, the dwarf made pointed comments — seemingly addressed to no one — castigating unnamed 'idjits' for not destroying every storehouse and granary in Lordaeron.

"It isn't a priority," a slightly pompous knight named Sir Othmar replied, his voice cutting through the din. "Even if what remains is tainted — which I doubt — there's very few left to eat it. Most of the populace is waiting out the plague in the capital, which gets its bread from Ironforge and Stormwind."

_Bread paid for by Silvermoon,_ Kael added silently. Lordaeron's citizens needed to be fed while their farms were infested with undead, but it was disappointing how few acknowledged that quel'dorei had donated the gold that paid the human and dwarven bakers.

"The dauntless few that refuse to be driven from their lands are smart enough to only eat what they can hunt and gather in the forests," Sir Othmar continued. "They're safe." He lifted his head proudly. "My men are on the front lines killing Scourge. Far more important than burning buildings."

"Then yer a damn fool," the dwarf said. "You think humans are the only ones who eat? What about mice and rats? And ye haven't been burning the animal corpses, have ya?"

Sir Othmar laughed uneasily. "Well, surely — "

"Mice and rats are eating the infected grain. They get eaten by hawks and eagles, passin' the plague along. Flies land on carrion, takin' the plague to bats and spiders the same way. An' what do ye suppose happens when all those infected birds and bats shit in the forest? They spread the sickness to deer and squirrels and rabbits who eat the plants, that's what! Haven't ye wondered why everything has been goin' yellow-brown, and spiders are growin' to the size of men, and bears and wolves are runnin' around with more open sores than pelt?"

"I —" Sir Othmar, flustered, nervously smoothing his extravagant moustache .

The dwarf drew his eyebrows together and jumped to his feet, growling. "How much tainted meat do ye suppose is out there, right now, waitin' to cause the plague, and more every day, all because you and your shiny soldiers are chasin' after glory?" He slammed his fist on the table, startling half the room.

"That's enough," Antonidas intervened. "I believe you've made your point."

"No one cares about the land or the beasts," Gavran grumbled as he settled back into his chair.

"Earthmender Gavran raised a good point," Antonidas told Sir Othmar. "Make sure to get the word out that it's dangerous to forage or hunt."

"And be prepared for the appearance of plague in those who ignore the warning and continue to eat fresh venison and other wild game," Runeweaver added.

The last report was a summary of the surveillance reports from scouts who had been observing the pockets of Scourge from a safe distance.

As he listened, Kael was once again struck by the contrast between the virulence of the plague and the behavior of the Scourge creatures the plague created. Like those who had died from eating the tainted grain, those the Scourge infected with plague rose as undead, but the reanimated were not aggressive unless attacked. According to reports, they primarily paced back and forth or stood in one spot, swaying, until they decomposed.

"Well then," one of Othmar's soldiers said, "it's easy. We'll fence 'em in, wait til they fall apart, then burn what's left."

Kael frowned and shook his head. "Something's not right."

"What do you mean?" Sir Othmar asked.

"Because," Kael said, trying to sort his thoughts, "Kel'Thuzad was a brilliant necromancer. Even if the idea for the plague came from the dreadlords, Kel'Thuzad nevertheless mastered extremely advanced magics to create it. To have the resulting undead be so vulnerable, so easily defeated, is ... surprising."

Othmar was outraged. "If you think he was so great, go join his damned cult!"

"You misunderstand me," Kael said, feeling mildly offended by the knight's belligerence. "What Kel'Thuzad did was despicable, an affront to the reputation of mages everywhere, but he was undeniably brilliant. To claim that his Scourge was meant to wipe out the living, but to create creatures that are so ineffective, is puzzling."

Drenden nodded. "I agree with Kael'thas. It's sloppy work. Not at all like the Kel'Thuzad we knew."

"He might have done it deliberately," Modera said. "Creating a defective weapon in order to sabotage the nathrezim's plans."

"I don't think so," Runeweaver said, shaking his head. "If one of us were forced to create such a plague, yes, I can imagine such a scenario, but Kel'Thuzad genuinely relished the necromantic arts, and was prideful to boot. I've no doubt that the Scourge is exactly what was asked for." He thought for a moment. "What if they're ... unfinished? Perhaps Kel'Thuzad was stopped before he could carry out their final evolution."

Modera asked Kael, "Anything useful in the papers that Kel'Thuzad left behind?"

"I turned it all over to Nima," Kael said, acknowledging a brown-haired gnome. "She's the best translator we have."

Modera turned to Nima. "Well?"

Nima shrugged. "I've gone through it, but what he left wasn't important. Magically, I mean. It's all mundane stuff: financial records, property deeds, shopping lists."

"How can that be?" Krasus asked.

"Just because something's written in Eredun doesn't mean it's an evil incantation," Nima said.

"I suppose not," Runeweaver chuckled. "Could Kel'Thuzad have left instructions with the members of his cult?"

Drenden shook his head. "I doubt it. Since his death they've done nothing. He badly misjudged them if he expected them to complete his work after his death."

"Not surprising, however," Antonidas said. "From what we've seen none of them have anywhere near his power or training. Most were lured to the cult by promises of wealth, power, and eternal life; with his death they've gone back to being harmless wheelwrights and stonemasons."

"Still, we should continue to watch them," Modera added. "Discreetly."

"Of course."

"I wonder," Runeweaver said thoughtfully, "if the Scourge could simply be ... waiting."

"Waiting?" Drenden asked. "For what?"

"I have no idea," Runeweaver said.

"Then we should thin their numbers as much as possible," Kael'thas said, "before whatever they might be waiting for comes to pass."

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By the end of his second day hunting and destroying the listless Scourge in Lordaeron, Kael'thas felt he understood his father Anasterian in an entirely new way. Previously, Kael had always wondered why his father insisted on leading their forces into battle, but now Kael suspected that Anasterian also found it satisfying to physically defeat an enemy.

If only solving everything was as simple as killing Scourge.

Foremost in his mind, or course, was worrying whether Jaina had reached a safe haven with the refugees she was shepherding. Then there was the issue of Seyla, who, after a few awkward meetings where they desperately searched for a topic of conversation, had left Dalaran for a retreat house somewhere near the dwarven lands. Seyla had made a vague graceful excuse about feeling exhausted, but Kael knew the truth: the sight of Kael brought back too many painful memories of Eldin for Seyla, as the sight of Seyla did for him. Finally there was Rommath, who had not yet returned from Silvermoon — a fact Kael was reminded of every time he caught Astalor glaring in his direction. In the face of all these worries and problems he could not resolve, beheading and incinerating undead was a welcome respite. Visible progress, tangible benefit, and as a bonus he returned to Dalaran each night so physically drained that most nights he had only enough energy to eat and fall into a dreamless sleep.

Of course, the endeavor of cleansing Lordaeron was not without its risks. It was a painful lesson that not all the undead were as mindless or passive as had been reported. Kael's group and the other squads began to come across Scourge who had come through death with their mental facilities intact — or at least intact enough to set up successful ambushes. As the merest scratch from certain undead killed within minutes — and as those so felled rose as undead almost instantly — the hunts became more stressful even as the number of Scourge declined.

"Obviously we've killed off all the stupid ones," Keleseth quipped after a narrow escape.

Kael couldn't bring himself to laugh; not when every casualty, elf or not, tore at his heart. It wasn't just the initial deaths — although those were bad enough — it was that whenever someone fell to the Scourge, they had to behead companions they had fought with less than an hour before.

On the third day, he and four others had just finished purifying a farm near the northernmost guard tower when Vanthryn's squad came into view, riding south. A dark-haired elf was in the group, and Kael, happy that Rommath had returned, led his group to to greet them.

As he got closer he was disappointed to see that the elf was not Rommath. "What news?" Kael asked Captain Vanthryn.

"We've been kiilling tiny shrieking creatures along the shore," Vanthryn said with a shrug. "They hardly seem worth the effort, but they leap comically high when they die. Unfortunately they've already poisoned most of the edible aquatic creatures."

Kael asked, referring to the brown-haired elf, "A new face?"

Vanthryn nodded. "Joined us two days ago."

"I feel as though we might have met," Kael called to the newcomer, "although I cannot recall your name."

"Fireheart, my lord," the elf said, coming closer and then dropping to one knee. "Selin Fireheart. I was hardly more than a boy when you supported my petition to squire for Vranesh the Elder."

"Ah, yes," Kael said. "Ancestor's Day. You waited near the portals to give me a message."

"Yes my lord. I'm honored that you remember."

Kael did not see any reason to admit that for him the day had been memorable primarily because it was the day he had left Quel'Thalas to join the Kirin Tor; after all, there was no point in disappointing his newest follower. "And have you enjoyed your years with the Champion? You must have learned much; his weapon skill is said to be incomparable. Perhaps you can help instruct some of the others in armed combat?"

Selin hesitated before answering, "Of course, my lord. If you wish." He glanced at Vanthryn, who shrugged and rode a short distance away. "I will tell you in confidence," Selin said once Vanthryn was out of earshot, "that many of the things the Elder Champion taught me ... I did not wish to learn." He looked down as if such criticism was a transgression. "When I heard the call to join your circle in Dalaran, it was though I had been given wings to soar from my cage."

Kael wasn't sure what to make of this confession, but as it seemed Selin did not intend to give further details he did not ask for any. "We are pleased to have you here," he said.

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Within the month the Scourge seemed to have disappeared from Lordaeron. Most felt that they had simply done a good job at eradicating the undead, but others pointed to scattered eyewitness reports that undead had been seen moving east through the forests under cover of night. Others reported seeing small groups of undead along the Greenrush river, the one the humans called Thondroril.

"They are mistaken," Sir Othmar said. "Anything that wanders onto the area gets eaten, especially that far north. If you'd taken the time to ride out there you'd have seen for yourself. Hellish grasshopper things that hide in burrows in the riverbank. Tear a man to shreds in a heartbeat, before you can even raise your sword."

"But the reports — " Kael started to say. He had been worried, when they had first started fighting Lordaeron's undead, that the offensive would simply drive the Scourge into Quel'Thalas, but the elite squadron stationed at the Thalassian Gate had reported nothing more than a lone undead now and again, wandering as if it had lost its way.

"The reports are wrong." Sir Othmar sat back and stroked his moustache. "I tell you, my squads have eliminated the undead. We stamped them out while your Silvermoon milksops were riding around admiring the scenery."

"Is it possible," Antonidas said, obviously trying to defuse the situation, "the undead attempted to cross the river, but were swept downstream?"

"If that had happened," Kael said, "wouldn't we have seen their corpses in the river? Or clogging Darrowmere Lake?"

"Hm. I suppose not."

"Explain it, then," Sir Othmar asked Kael. "If they're still around, why we aren't seeing them?"

"I think they're hiding in Stratholme," Kael said. "Think how many the ruins could hold! It's perfect: the area is secluded, surrounded by toxic vegetation and stench of carrion. The living don't go near."

"Ridiculous," Sir Othmar said, "and even if it wasn't, our troops man the barricades to the south. Nothing can get out, so obviously nothing got in."

"What if they scaled the hills east of the river?" Kael countered.

"Corpses climbing mountains?" Othmar sputtered in derision. "Next you'll be claiming they have picnics and go a-courting by the lakeside!"

"Speculation is pointless," Krasus said, "unless you can answer why the undead would leave their current hiding places and cross a river simply to go into Stratholme."

"Maybe they're sentimental?" Drenden ventured. "Maybe the ones that died there, or had friends and family who lived there, remember enough to want to go back?"

"And again, I would ask why," Krasus insisted.

Sir Othmar snorted. "You elves. Always looking for complications and mysteries when the truth is right in front of you. I tell you, my squads have taken care of the undead problem. It's our hard work here in Lordaeron that's keeping your homelands safe. Don't you forget that."

Kael, who had had his fill of Sir Othmar's snide remarks, was about to object when an acolyte ran in and, bowing apologetically, gave a message to Antonidas. The archmage read the message, then waved his hand for silence. His face was grave. "Arthas Menethil returned from Northrend two days ago. "

So he's back. Kael knew it was petty, but he was secretly glad that he had been able to see Jaina before she left, and Arthas had not.

"The gates of the capital have not opened since."

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It was another day before the full extent of the horror came to them, when a gryphon riders who had been able to coax her mount to fly over the capital reported that the courtyards were filled with piles of corpses ... and crowds of undead.

"The plague," Runeweaver said, shaking his head. "How could it happen? Who would do such a thing?"

"I doubt it was malice," Antonidas said. "Likely someone who had eaten tainted grain or meat and didn't know they were carrying the disease until it was too late."

"And then ..." Drenden looked uncharacteristically somber.

"The thing I don't understand," Runeweaver said, "is why they'd lock the gates. Surely not everyone was infected?"

"Same strategy Prince Arthas used at Stratholme," Modera said. "Contain the outbreak. Prevent the undead from escaping and ravaging the countryside further."

"And, as at Stratholme, an action that doomed many who might have been saved," Kael'thas said.

"Terenas and his son probably went down fighting," Drenden said sadly. "Such a pity. That boy would have made a fine king someday."

"What should we do?"

"I don't know what we can do," Antonidas said. "With such a number of undead, it is unlikely that there are any survivors."

"We'll do what we've done in smaller areas," Runeweaver said. "We'll wait for the undead to decompose, then burn the remains."

Kael was silent as the others discussed the assignment of squads to guard possible exit points from the capital. Imagining what was going on inside the walls of Terenas' city ... Yes, he'd considered Arthas a rival for Jaina's affection, but it was not at all how he'd wanted the rivalry to end. To die in such a way, trapped, facing overwhelming numbers of undead, fighting what he surely would have known was a losing battle ... it was a fate Kael would not have wished for anyone, not even Arthas.

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With the undead in Lordaeron under control, life in Dalaran almost returned to what it had been pre-plague. True, the streets were still almost deserted, and Astalor had — without consulting Kael — suspended the weekly gatherings, but with Rommath in Silvermoon and many of the inner circle either out either patrolling or recruiting, the core group was spread quite thin. it was understandable.

It was a week or so after they'd received the news about Terenas and the capital that Astalor, Vanthryn, and several others rushed into his workshop, looking stricken. With them was Mehlar Dawnblade, an elven paladin of the Silver Hand who had been mentored by Uther Lightbringer himself.

"What is it?" Kael asked. "Has something happened to Rommath?"

"No," Mehlar said. "The gates of the capital have opened, releasing an army of ten thousand undead."

"They're different now," Astalor said. "Remenber Runeweaver saying the undead might be waiting for something? It looks like he was right: they were waiting. For leadership."

"And now they have it?" Kael said.

"Yes," Mehlar said. "Generals and commanders. They have led their unholy force east, cutting down champions — Gavinrad, Ballador, Sage Truthbearer — as if they were mowing weeds. Even The Lightbringer has fallen."

"Uther as well?" Kael knew how important Uther had been to Mehlar: Uther had brought Mehlar into the Order despite the objections of some. "Is the Silver Hand no more?"

"As long as even one of us draws breath," Mehlar said fiercely, "the Silver Hand will bear the Light into battle. Saidan Dathrohan is leading those of us who remain. Although I intend to fight at his side, I believe that it will take a coordinated effort to stop this new wave of undead, and so I ask that you gather what forces you can and report to the general for assignment."

"General?" Kael asked. "What general?"

"Our good friend the Baron of Blackwood," Astalor replied. "It seems Sir Othmar Garithos has been promoted."

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After Mehlar left to return to Hearthglen, Kael and Vanthryn sent Astalor and the others off to round up Society members then made their way to Dalaran's main entrance.

The Great Gate of Dalaran's massive doors, like the thick walls that enclosed the city, were not, strictly speaking, necessary in a city protected by magical wards; however, the Kirin Tor acknowledged that the non-mage population took comfort from such tangible symbols of the city's security.

Usually the view through the Great Gate was a peaceful one of Lordamere Lake and the grasslands and undulating hills surrounding it; today, however, the scene was a thicket of soldiers and tents, threaded through with lines of Lordaerani waiting for inspection by plague-screening priests in order to take refuge in the city. On a small hillock to one side of this chaos Garithos sat impassively on a white warhorse, ringed by a bulwark of lieutenants. From the snippets of conversation Kael and Vanthryn picked up as they approached him it seemed that small groups of undead kept splitting off from the main force, presumably to re-capture the various towns along the way spread the plague to anyone they encountered. Garithos' lieutenants apparently were assigning each group of knights or unarmored common folk the defense of a particular village or farm.

"Whoever or whatever is leading this army now is smart," Vanthryn said. "They know that we can't risk allowing the plague to be re-seeded. By splitting off those groups of undead they're forcing us to splinter our forces as well."

"But they're spreading themselves thin as well by this tactic," Kael said. "If we can defeat them fast enough."

"Let's hope victory is determined by strategy and not sheer numbers," Vanthryn said. "If this turnout is any indication, the undead already have us outnumbered by a factor of two or three."

They stood patiently while the groups that had been waiting when they arrived received their assignments, and then somewhat less patiently as both the general and his various lieutenants pretended not to notice them.

"This is intolerable," Vanthryn muttered.

"Calm yourself," Kael murmured back. "Power is intoxicating to those unaccustomed to it. I'm sure they'll condescend to notice us soon."

"Sunstrider! What're you gawping at?" Garithos asked after three more groups of humans had approached, received their assignments, and left.

Kael, who had become accustomed to Sir Othmar's hostility over the course of several Council meetings, said in a tone he hoped would be taken as respectful, "I was told you were coordinating forces to fight this invasion of undead, General. I am gathering my people; we have several dozen experienced fighters." Kael put his hand over his heart and made a small bow. "We are at your disposal."

"Is that so? Several dozen, eh?" Garithos chuckled. "Well, If we hear the undead are planning to attack any frilly curtains, we'll let you know."

"How dare you address a prince of the Sunstrider dynasty so rudely!" Vanthryn exploded.

"Are you threatening me, elf?" Garithos shot back as his entourage tensed.

"Of course not, general," Kael said, not looking at Vanthryn. "We are only here to offer our aid. If it is not needed, we will trouble you no more."

Garithos pursed his lips, then said sourly, "Tell you what. The undead are marching along the High Road. If you can manage to find any, kill them."

"And if any groups of undead veer from the road? Should we pursue them?"

"No," Garithos said. "Stay on the main force. If you do your job, there will be none left to veer."

Kael nodded, and with a warning look at Vanthryn, turned to go.

"Rancid pile of slug droppings," Vanthryn grumbled as they made their way back inside the city.

"Let it go," Kael said.

"How are you able to tolerate his insults?" Vanthryn asked.

"I tell myself that we fight, not for Garithos," Kael replied, "but for the people of Lordaeron."

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When Astalor returned his group included a group of priests who had been studying the plague as well as a tall, frail elder with sharp features and long silver-gold hair.

"All I could find," Astalor said. "I put the word out for anyone with combat experience to join us as soon as they are able."

Kael addressed the elder. "Master Voren'thal," he said, "your offer to assist us is most generous, but I must respectfully ask you to stay in Dalaran."

"Why?" Voren'thal asked crisply. "Magister Sunsworn said there was an urgent need. Lest you think I am too old to accompany you, I will point out that I am centuries younger than your father. Would you presume to prevent him from riding into battle?"

Kael said carefully, "You are one of our greatest artists and a living treasure. I cannot allow you to expose yourself to the dangers of the Scourge."

"Yet I assume you will allow the others to risk themselves," Voren'thal said. "So which is it: that they are expendable, or that you think I am too senile to make my own decisions?"

Kael was certain he did not deserve such ill-will. "Neither," he replied. "However, unlike the others gathered here, you have not spent hundreds of hours these past few months battling and observing the undead. No matter how well-intentioned you are, we cannot afford your inexperience in this situation. Mistakes could be fatal."

"Mistakes often are." Voren'thal sounded irritated, but also somewhat appeased.

"Master Voren'thal," Astalor said after a quick glance at Kael, "It would be a great help to us if you would fly to Silvermoon and appraise Magister Rommath that an undead army has emerged from Lordaeron's capital city, and that we all may be absent from Dalaran for an extended period of time as we fight it." Astalor added, "Tell him too that it is my personal request that he stay in Silvermoon and continue his work there."

Voren'thal raised an eyebrow as though he considered Astalor's request a task beneath him, but then he lifted his head proudly. "So I am to be a messenger of doom? I cannot escape that role, it seems." As he turned to go he said, "And so the descent into chaos begins."

.

A grizzled gray-bearded man hobbled up to them as they were hurrying to the city portals. "Sorry to bother you," he said, bowing to Kael, "but the archmage asked me to make sure to find you and give you a message before you left."

"You are?" Kael asked.

"Kassan, sir." The old man bowed again. "Portal porter."

"Ah yes, I see." Kael took the small folded paper. " Thank you, Kassan." He unfolded the paper: it said simply _Still at sea — landfall soon._ "Please tell the archmage I am grateful for this information," Kael said, unexpectedly moved that Antonidas had taken the time to give him this update about Jaina. How odd that, despite the disparity in their ages, Antonidas had become a second father to him! He vowed, after the fighting was over, to find a moment to express the sentiment to him.

.

Fortunately, undead marching en masse were little different than they had been when loitering in groups of two or three on Lordaeron's farms: they only attacked the living if the living attacked them. While Garithos' troops, outfitted in full plate, could afford to set a dozen or more undead aflame by lobbing a barrel of flaming oil in their midst, Kael's forces, lightly armored as they were, had to be more cautious. Peeling one creature away from the tail-end of the march at a time, Kael's squads of four killed, dismembered, and incinerated again and again.

The lumbering, inexorably-moving army barely seemed to notice.

"Where do you think they're going?" Keleseth asked Kael as he decapitated a smouldering corpse. "Stratholme, to join the others?"

"It could be."

Kael barely heard him. Voren'thal's dire parting comment about descending into chaos echoed in his mind, recalled the day he had stood on the balcony of Sunstrider Spire and looked out over the treetops of Quel'thalas' vast forest, imagining it as a dark sea whose depths hid danger. Just as he had that day, he again felt some vast horror approaching, something that would devour his world the way a whale shark's vast maw scooped up tiny fish. "Swimming away is the only escape," he murmured.

"What?" Astalor and the others had stopped talking and were looking at him, puzzled.

"Nothing," he said. "Let's save Lordaeron again."

.

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18 Dec 2014; rev 27 Dec 2014


	8. The Halls of Theory (Vexallus) 3

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: The Scourge comes to Quel'Thalas._

Author's note: For those who wiki every name they don't recognize, I wanted to note up front that Sol'thana, Celinar, and Exemplars Vantia and Prwyndou are tribute OCs; everyone else in this chapter is a canon NPC (though most are quite minor).

This chapter is gratefully dedicated to **Bryn** and **Arreku97**.

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 8: The Halls (Vexallus), Part III<br>**

_by silverr_

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><p>.<p>

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_Un… con… tain… able…_

_._

Sounds like you're finding the encounter more difficult than you had anticipated?

Not surprising: the magisters and arcane researchers who summoned Vexallus did as well. I didn't know much more about any of them past their names and faces, but I can imagine their reaction. They would have tried to stay calm, of course, worked together to regain control; that is the reasonable thing, the "proper" thing, to do in most dire situations. Ironically, if they had panicked, run off in different directions, it might have saved them. Sometimes our instincts offer the best course of action. I suppose some might say, "But how could they have known that was the right thing to do?" I would remind them (as Telestra so often reminded me) to "Remember first principles!"

I'm certain you have no idea what I mean; I shall try to put it simply enough that you can understand.

To the uninitiated, magical energy is an infinite resource subservient only to the will of the mage who channels it. No part of that is correct. Magic obeys certain inflexible rules, rules that practitioners must learn and respect. One such rule, perhaps the cardinal one, is that magic demands _balance_. Understand this, and you can see that casting a spell does not _create _power, it merely _transfers _it from elsewhere—the Twisting Nether, an imbued artifact, the life-force of the mage or another creature. The same principle applies to any permanent enhancement: there is a maintenance cost, often manifesting as a vulnerability or limitation. For Vexallus, the ability to turn solidarity into a weapon is bound to that specific location in the Hall; other creatures might, for example, find sunlight lethal, or be twisted into a hideous monster when absorbing demonic power for a good cause, or find their invulnerability dependent on the safety of hidden physical objects…

But enough of that.

I am curious to see how much further you will advance before you are defeated.

.

.

"Did Garithos think we would fall to these undead?" Selin asked as he dodged an abomination's chained hook.

"If he did," Vanthryn replied as he and Luthion rushed in behind the monstrosity and swung their blades to disarm it, "he surely will be disappointed."

Kael tossed swirls of flame at the grotesque, still-moving pieces of the abomination and allowed himself a smile.

They had caught up to the undead army just past Andorhal, relentlessly harrying the trailing end as it shambled eastbound; past Darrowshire and Crown Guard Tower, over Lake Mereldar's bridge and through Corin's Crossing, and then north, past Eastwall. Vanthryn angrily claimed that the human soldiers who periodically galloped past had been sent by Garithos to monitor whether the elven forces were doing as they had been commanded; Kael thought it more likely that the soldiers were simply going to fight yet another group of undead that had splintered off from the main force to attack a nearby farm or village. Ultimately it didn't matter to Kael whether Garithos was spying on them or not: what mattered was that his quel'dorei continued to press onward without complaint. Every time he gathered with them around the supply wagon where they dutifully drank plain water and attempted to eat the dry, almost tasteless Dwarven flatbread supplied daily by Dalaran, every time he saw someone take one of the "community blankets" to nap on the hard ground, his pride in his people was so fierce that it literally made his chest ache. After days of almost nonstop combat Kael knew his people were weary—the close calls, near-misses, and injuries were becoming more frequent—and though they had not lost anyone, it was discouraging that, no matter how many undead they killed, the sheer numbers never seemed to decrease.

As they followed the procession of undead past Eastwall Tower and northwest toward Stratholme, Selin shouted to Kael, "You were right! The undead _are _gathering in Stratholme!" Kael found no joy in this small victory, only worry. Why would the undead leave themselves open to attack by marching to Stratholme when they could have continued to occupy the capital, safe behind Terenas' high stone walls?

As they pressed on, coming in sight of where the main road sent off a branch north toward the Thalassian Pass and Quel'Thalas, they were relieved to see no undead had broken away from the main host. "They know we are unassailable," someone crowed. _Do they?_ Kael wondered. _Or is it that the humans of Lordaeron are simply more convenient targets?_

They were fighting south of Northwall Tower when a lone rider emerged from the blighted underbrush near the road and headed toward them at at full gallop.

It was Mehlar Dawnblade. "I have only a moment," he said without dismounting from his skittish horse, "but as I had heard you would be fighting here I raced to bring you word. A group of undead did break from the main force and head north, toward the Pass."

"How long ago?" Kael asked. "Can we outrun them?" Gone in an instant was his resolve to obey Garithos' orders: if the Scourge were marching on Quel'Thalas, Kael and his contingent would stop them.

"I do not know," Mehlar said. "It was only by the Light's grace that we learned of this at all, when during a lull in our battle we found a trampled message-hawk from Quel'Lithien. There is no way to know when it was sent out."

"So it could have been hours or even _days_ ago?" Selin asked.

"Yes."

"If you knew of the threat, why did you not ride out immediately in defense of Quel'Thalas?"

It was an accusation, but Mehlar remained calm. "The guard post at the Thalassian Gate is well-garrisoned," he said. "Even if an undead force managed to take them by surprise, you know full well that the runestones and Ban'dinoriel would keep Eversong and Silvermoon safe in the few hours it would take for the Rangers and Farstriders to locate and eliminate the invaders. Lordaeron is not so fortunate in its defenses, and so I felt the best use of my blade was here, fighting the thousands of undead that have been streaming through the Plaguewood and into Stratholme."

"A pathetic excuse," Luthion said. "Who cares if undead occupy Stratholme? It's a ruined city. A _human_ city. Let them gather there and rot."

Mehlar was clearly about to give a less-than-calm reply when Vanthryn cut in. "Once an army becomes entrenched," he said to Luthion, "it's much more difficult to rout them. Stratholme is not as fortified as the capital, but with the mountains at its back and sides it is as easily defended."

Mehlar nodded curtly. "Thank you for understanding. May the Light be with you," he said, then spurred his horse and rode back toward Stratholme.

.

"Shouldn't we have called on Quel'Lithien?" Antherann asked as they hurried through the rocky defile that led from Lordaeron to Quel'Thalas. "Cyndia's brother is—"

Astalor shot back, "Their response to seeing the undead march on Eversong Forest was to tie a slip of parchment to a bird's leg."

When at last the Thalassian Gate came into view Kael expected to either see a battle underway, or to see its aftermath. What he saw instead were undead, packed into the arched corridor of the Gate like unholy sheaves; in front of them, the ground was littered with bloody, broken Thalassian armor and reddish-black gobbets of decaying flesh. The sight repulsed and angered him so much that he—as well as a half-dozen other elves—instinctively began to move forward to attack.

"Stop!" Vanthryn shouted, grabbing Kael by the shoulder.

"Doesn't it make _you_ sick," Ennas asked, "to see those hideous creatures polluting our forest?"

"Of course it does," Vanthryn snapped back, "but I have the discipline not to be goaded into carelessness. Have no fear, I _will_ see these undead destroyed before they can bring the Scourge to our lands, but I will not add to their numbers."

Kael was grateful for Vanthryn's level-headed counsel. "What do you suggest?"

"Channel a protective shield," Vanthryn said, "while our archers take down the large hook-and-chain wielding abominations. We know the havoc those monsters can cause."

To Kael's surprise, rather than rushing forward to retaliate for the attack once the first abomination went down, the undead simply shuffled their positions to put the hulking monstrosities out of range… and then did nothing.

"They're trying to lure us closer."

"It seems so," Vanthryn said slowly. "Let's fall back and see if we can be the ones doing the luring."

The group retreated to a point out of sight of the undead and waited, weapons ready.

"They do not advance?" Valanar said.

"Why would you expect them to?" someone asked.

"They outnumber us at least five to one," Vanthryn said, "perhaps as much as ten to one. There is no way we can out-flank them in this narrow space, and yet instead of rushing forward and overwhelming us they have chosen to hunker down. I think we should consider that these undead might be very different than those we've been fighting in Lordaeron. Did you take note of the figure near the back, the human in dark armor?" Vanthryn asked, intent on the empty road. "I've never seen his like in any of the undead we've fought. He is no mindless ghoul: he watches with intelligent malice."

"Could he be one of the newly-commissioned Scourge commanders?"

"If he is, then those undead are not the usual aimless opportunists wandering into a new area. but soldiers following orders." Vanthryn thought for a moment, then looked south, in the direction of Lordaeron. "Fighting at the Gate would make us vulnerable to ambush by a second force approaching from Lordaeron… but we know that."

Kael waited.

"If I were in that Scourge commander's place," Vanthryn continued, "I would never expect an enemy to be foolish enough to walk into such an obvious trap. He expects us not only to see the trap but to avoid it…which means it's intended to delay us, distract us, or to force us into taking certain actions. But what…" He looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the Gate and frowned. "What I don't understand is why are there no Ranger or Farstrider forces attacking from Quel'Thalas."

"Perhaps the undead haven't been at the Gate long enough for the alarm to have been—"

"No," Vanthryn said, "the undead took the Gate at least two days ago."

"Oh, you can't know that!" Astalor said. He'd been unusually quiet since they'd left Dalaran, but Kael couldn't tell if this was due to the harshness of combat or simply a result of Rommath's prolonged absence. When Vanthryn pointed out—in detail—how one could tell the approximate time of death from the color and condition of the remains, Astalor looked as though he'd regretted asking.

"This is easy," Lana'thel said. "Open a portal to Windrunner Spire. Sol'thana and I can rally the Rangers."

"What if that's exactly what that undead commander _expects _you to do?" Valanar countered. "What if you step from the portal to find all the Rangers slain and a dozen undead waiting for you?"

"That's ridiculous," Lana'thel scoffed. "Why do you always bring up such dire scenarios?" She turned to Kael and Vanthryn. "I'll bring the Rangers, and we can turn the tables on the undead. Attack them from both sides of the Gate."

"Ah, at the risk of sounding as _dire_ as my brother_,_" Keleseth said carefully, "in the event that the Rangers are deployed elsewhere and unable to accompany you, might it not be best if more than two of you attack from the Eversong side? I am no military tactician, but it seems as though it might be more efficient to re-take the Gate with two groups of approximately equal size."

"If they see only half our group attacking from the Lordaeron side," Sandoval pointed out, "they'll guess our plan instantly."

Astalor sighed. "Hopeless… we have one of the most talented illusionists in the entire Kirin Tor with us, and you can't imagine anything he could contribute?" He looked around. "Celinar! How many can you handle?"

A mage with short brown hair stepped forward. "Hm… well, I'm sure I could manage at least nine unique simulacra casting nonsynchronously, but I assume you'll also want Lana'thel and Sol'thana standing at the back pretending to be Rangers? That will require a separate cluster."

"See?" Astalor said. "A creative solution."

It was decided that in addition to Lana'thel and Sol'thana the group going to Windrunner Spire should include a priest, Kael, and three additional mages. After Malande, Zerevor, and Theraldis volunteered, Kael was surprised when Astalor spoke up. "I'll go as well," he said. "I know a secluded spot under a goldenbough tree near the Spire; if we portal there we'll be hidden from the sight of any invaders."

Vorath snickered. "A secluded spot?"

"It's not what you think, you degenerate," Astalor replied. "It was a perfect place to sit and watch the sea."

Kael found this comment puzzling until he remembered Rommath once saying that Astalor had been raised at The Sanctuary, the spiritual retreat village nestled in the mountains of Quel'Thalas' southern border.

"What a shame you didn't finish the Exemplar training," Vorath said. "Such a waste of your natural benevolence."

"I chose not to take the vows," Astalor snapped back, "so I wouldn't have to pretend to feel compassion for idiots."

"Whenever you two are done," Kael said, "Celinar can take our simulacra."

.

They emerged, just as Astalor had promised, under an ancient tree on a grassy ledge midway up the cliffs. From their limited vantage point the Spire looked deserted.

As Lana'thel and Sol'thana went to investigate, Theraldis said, "It _is_ a beautiful view of the water." It was an obvious attempt to make up for Vorath's rudeness, but Astalor was having none of it.

Lana'thel and Sol'thana soon returned. "There's no one there," Lana'thel reported. "All the cookfires are cold, but there are bowls of uneaten food on the tables, as if everyone left in a hurry. Most of the weapon racks are empty."

"If they're not at the Thalassian Gate, where are they?"

"I don't know, but it looks as though there's activity in Windrunner Village. Sol and I can go check? We could regroup just past The Sanctuary."

"Approach the village with caution," Kael said. An odd trepidation had been prickling his skin since he came through the portal. In part it was due to the unusual silence: there was no birdsong, no humming cicadas, no animal cries at all. Even the wind was still.

Lana'thel nodded. "I feel it too. Something is not right."

As Lana'thel and Sol'thana set off to the north, toward Windrunner Village, Kael and his group went southeast, following the base of the Thalassian Range.

As they approached the rocky outcroppings that curved like an embrace around The Sanctuary, they noticed that a wide swath of the grasses and mosses of the woodland leading into the valley had been crushed and flattened, as if by wagon-wheels and many feet. In some places the vegetation seemed to be fading to a sickly yellow-green.

And then they moved forward a bit more, and The Sanctuary itself came into view.

The Sanctuary had been a lovely place, a shaded refuge of winding paths and small waterfalls, with dozens of artfully placed nooks for semi-private meditations and clusters of small huts and cottages. The gathering place at the center, a velvety lush greensward patterned with rows of white stone benches, had been edged with small vegetable gardens and fruit trees, tended by the Order of Exemplars… but now all was a broken, despoiled ruin. The gardens and orchards looked as though some wild beast had torn through them, breaking branches and uprooting the smaller trees and bushes; the greenery was as sickly yellow-brown as anything in Lordaeron; and everywhere there were huge ragged holes, wide enough to swallow a small wagon, as if bombs had exploded just under the earth. Nothing moved in the devastated landscape except for wisps of smoke from the charred, still-smouldering buildings.

"Look," Kael said, barely able to find his voice, "for survivors."

As Astalor moved toward the center of the gathering place and the others ran up the curving stone paths along the canyon walls to the remains of the cottages, Kael walked to The Sanctuary's tiny graveyard. He had no idea why he was looking there of all places, but somehow it seemed just as important to ensure that the peace of the departed had not been disturbed as it was to search for the living.

Fortunately, the cemetery plots seemed undisturbed, and so he began to descend into the Crypt of the Keepers. He had taken only a few steps down the stairs when a current of cold, fetid air gusted over him, bringing a charnel smell so overpowering that it made him stagger back. A lance of pure fear stabbed his chest; and in his terror he was unable to move, knowing that any instant something would emerge from the dark and kill him… and then someone shouted, which broke the spell long enough for Kael to hurry up out of the crypt.

He saw Astalor and Malande on the far side of the green. Astalor was kneeling by a purple-robed body while above him Malande was casting non-stop healing spells. As Kael ran toward them he heard Astalor say, "Exemplar Vantia, it's Astalor. Someone hurt you, but I'm here now, and you're safe."

When Kael was close enough to see who Astalor was addressing he felt fresh horror. Half the gray-haired caretaker's body was gone; what remained was a torn mangle of flesh and exposed bone. Kael was certain that she could not be alive, but to his astonishment the eye in the undamaged half of her face slowly blinked at the sound of Astalor's voice.

"If you can," Astalor said to her with heartbreaking gentleness, "tell me who did this."

She made a gurgling sound that was almost a laugh… and then there was a prolonged hiss, and then she was gone.

"No. _No!"_ Astalor cried as Malande took him by the shoulders and turned him away from the body. "I have to… I have to find Prwyndou! I have to tell her. She needs to know!"

As Kael saw the rivulets of tears streaming down Astalor's face he could barely hold back his own emotion. "We will," he said, following as Malande led Astalor away from the body. "We will do it together."

Astalor, lost in his grief, said nothing.

Lana'thel and Sol'thana appeared suddenly, shouting as they sprinted toward The Sanctuary, "Undead! Undead!"

"Where?" Zerevor said, hurrying down from the upper paths. "I don't see any,"

Lana'thel stopped running and twisted around to look in the direction of Windrunner Village. "They _were _chasing us," she said—and then, as she turned and took in the devastation of The Sanctuary, her face seemed to crumple. "Oh, no… what happened here?"

"We don't know," Malande said quietly. She had put her arms around Astalor and was rubbing his back in comforting circles._  
><em>

As Lana'thel went to examine one of the pits more closely Kael motioned Sol'thana to walk with him, out of Astalor's hearing, and then asked, "There are undead at Windrunner Village? You're certain?"

"Yes," Sol'thana said, "and signs of a battle. Blood, broken weapons and furniture, overturned lamps."

"The undead there—are they—?"

"No," she said. "They're ghouls like the ones in Lordaeron. Not elves."

As guilty as it made him feel, this news was a relief. Although he'd become almost indifferent to incinerating the plagued corpses of dead and undead humans, the prospect of having to destroy his own people… he knew he wasn't the only one dreading it. He could accept that the absence of quel'dorei undead at Windrunner Village might mean that the dead had risen and wandered off, but it occurred to him that a more likely explanation was that the entire Ranger population had, as soon as the invasion was sighted, rushed from Windrunner Spire to ensure that the Village was safely evacuated before any enemy reached it. Yes, this must be what had happened. Surely they would meet up with Sylvanas and her archers soon.

Lana'thel, who had knelt next to one of the holes and had been holding her hands over the empty space, sat back on her heels and turned to them. "It's… I think this is a tunnel. At least this one is; I can feel a faint flow of air coming out." She crawled forward and then disappeared inside.

Kael tensed, expecting any moment to hear her scream as she was seized by some ravening monster, but after a moment she reappeared and walked back to them, brushing dirt from her hands and knees. "Whatever came out of that tunnel was big—and it certainly wasn't made by any animal I know. And it probably wasn't alone; the floor is hard-packed and the walls are polished smooth."

"How many animals would it take to do that?"

"Dozens at least? Maybe hundreds?"

"So where have they all gone?" Sol'thana asked, shivering. "Did they use those tunnels to escape? Will they be back? And why attack The Sanctuary? There was nothing here but peace and innocence."

Kael, looking out of the valley at the trampled, yellowing verdure, knew why; the dying swath had been made, not by those marching _into _The Sanctuary, but by those marching _out._ With the Gate on one side and the Rangers keeping watch on the sea to the other, the only way to stealthily bring a large force into Quel'Thalas was to find a point in-between. The Sanctuary had been that midpoint, and it had been destroyed simply because it was in the way. The real question was, had this new enemy simply taken advantage of the disorder that the undead were causing, or had they somehow coordinated with the undead? Either way, it looked as though Quel'Thalas now had two enemies to fight. "They won't get far."

"Let's stop talking and find them," Astalor said. His tears had dried and his former gentleness was gone; now his eyes were now frighteningly cold, and he radiated brittle fury.

"We need to rejoin the others at the Gate," Kael said. "Destroy the undead by attacking them from both sides, remember?"

"Of course I remember!"

"So go ahead with Malande and Lana'thel and Sol'thana; the rest of us will follow in a moment."

"You don't want me to see you burning Exemplar Vantia's body," Astalor said. "You think the undead killed her, that she's infected with the plague."

Kael knew better than to lie. "Yes."

"It wasn't undead that killed her," Astalor said. "They don't dig tunnels. But have it your way." He incinerated the corpse with a single enormous fireball, and then turned and walked out into Eversong Forest, toward the Thalassian Gate.

.

When he thought about it later Kael supposed that Astalor had shown great restraint, waiting until Vanthryn and the Lordaeron group—both real and illusory—were in place and had started their attack before he unleashed. Of course, once he began he had hurled fireball after fireball without pause, tirelessly setting each rank of undead aflame. Kael wasn't sure how Astalor was managing to expend so much power so fast until he saw the blood soaking the sleeves of the younger mage's robe. _Blood magic._ Kael was appalled, but under the circumstances he supposed it was understandable. He certainly didn't intend to report Astalor, and he didn't suppose anyone else in their group would either.

It didn't take long to dispose of the rank-and-file undead, although it was surprising how many of them were packed into the alcoves of the Gate (one hundred and eighty-seven, according to Pathaleon). Through all the fighting the undead commander stood at the exact center of his dwindling forces: from time to time he threw out a silencing spell, or placed a circle of disease on the ground, but mostly he watched the extermination with a faint, chilling smile, until he alone remained. As a dozen elves plunged swords and daggers into him he said, in an eerily echoing voice, "Too late… he has what he needs."

And then Vanthryn cut off his head, and he spoke no more.

.

Kael was gratified to see that a second group of Dalaran elves had arrived at the Gate during their absence. Vanthryn suggested that the newcomers be assigned to guard the Gate against new incursions of undead from Lordaeron and to begin filling in the tunnels at The Sanctuary against additional waves of the mystery invaders.

"A solid plan," Luthion said. "Will you stay here to command them?"

"No," Vanthryn said. "I'll get them started, but I know most of them; they're very capable, know what needs to be done and do it."

Lana'thel approached Kael. "I'd like to suggest we make camp here. The undead don't need sleep, but we do, and though they'll never admit it, there's quite a few who who've been fighting almost non-stop and are ready to drop. The newcomers can stand watch; they're well-rested, as they didn't have to fight anything on their way from Dalaran."

"So we _aren't_ going to go after the monsters who attacked The Sanctuary?" Astalor asked angrily.

"Tracking unknown creatures when our company is exhausted is hardly wise," Andorath said. "Sleep is our best ally now."

Astalor turned away in disgust, muttering.

Kael understood his anger, but as he watched most of those who had fought that day carrying blankets into a tent some distance away he knew that Lana'thel and Andorath were right. "We will leave after those who need sleep have had a chance to rest," he said, then joined those who were sitting by the fire.

"I wonder where whatever attacked The Sanctuary came from," Taldaram said to no one in particular. "There are no caves under The Sanctuary."

Astalor, who was apparently still within earshot, replied furiously, "Why are you all so obsessed with what they were or where they came from? All we need to know is where they are so that we can kill them."

"Knowing where they came from will tell us what they are, what they want, and where they're going," Navarius said, sounding like a schoolteacher.

"Oh Navarius!" Theraldis said quickly, apparently worried that Astalor wouldn't take well to such a patronizing tone. "Always the pedant!"

"Stratholme," Vanthryn said thoughtfully. "They could have come from Stratholme. In terms of absolute distance it's not far; just the other side of the mountain."

"That's absurd," Luthion said. "The undead can't dig, they're made of rotting flesh. And before you tell me that they must have had help, I'll say again that it's absurd. It would have taken _weeks._ And what about the excavated dirt? Even _one _tunnel that long would have produced a huge pile, and Sol said there were what, a dozen tunnels? I'm telling you, Mehlar or someone would have noticed piles like that appearing all over Stratholme."

"Not if the dirt was scattered around," Vanthryn said, "or hidden in the houses that are still standing. And even if there were piles out in the open, no one's been going that close to the place, let alone entering it. I think the undead partnered with something, with whatever made the tunnels. Joined forces to invade Quel'Thalas. Put the undead at the Gate to throw us off or slow us down while they marched out through The Sanctuary."

"Giant worms," Taldaram said suddenly. "Burrowing worms eat the soil as they go."

Kael wasn't sure whether he should allow such a glib discussion, especially with Astalor presumably still eavesdropping, but before he could say anything Zerevor snapped, "Shut up! None of you saw what those monsters did to The Sanctuary."

"Whoever or whatever," Vanthryn said after a long silence, "it tells us that the neither the leaders of the undead nor the leaders of these mystery invaders know much about Quel'Thalas' defenses."

"Ban'dinoriel will trap them," Sandoval said with zeal, "like rabbits in a snare."

.

A few hours later, after checking in quickly with the groups stationed at the Gate and The Sanctuary, they set out for Windrunner Village.

As they headed northwest and crossed the path of yellowing vegetation—which some were now referring to as "The Dying Path"—Kael thought of Lordaeron. Lordaeron had once been as green as Quel'Thalas, but was now drained of beauty and color, its people hiding in fear yet safe nowhere, every village and outpost polluted with undeath—. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of movement off to his right, something pale and low to the ground, and he immediately threw a fireball at it. The creature writhed in flames for a moment then collapsed, pulling spindly legs to its bloated belly as it died. A spider, as huge as those in the plagued regions of Lordaeron. No, he would not permit his Eversong Forest to suffer Lordaeron's fate.

And yet the undead commander's dying comment kept haunting him. _He has what he needs._ Who did the commander mean? What did they have? Kael couldn't think of anything that an invader _could _take; other than the land and the people, everything else of value was safely behind Ban'dinoriel…

The undead at Windrunner Village were, as Lana'thel and Sol'thana had said, the same sort of decrepit ghouls seen in Lordaeron, although much more aggressive, charging as soon as the elves came into view. Astalor, to Kael's dismay, re-opened the gashes in his forearms, put up a ferocious fire shield, then charged at the undead in turn, igniting them.

"Well," Gathios said, re-sheathing his unused sword. "That's done."

From Windrunner Village they marched along the bank of the Elrendar's south branch. Looking in at the Sanctum of the Moon on their way to Tranquillien, they found it as empty as the Spire had been, although at least there, unlike Windrunner Village, there were no signs of battle.

"The magisters must be nipping at the invaders' heels as well," Thaladred said as he examined the racks of arcane potions and powders above the alchemist's workbench.

"We haven't heard any sounds of battle," Sol'thana said to Lana'thel as they left the Sanctum and continued east, toward Tranquillien. "Do you think the invaders have already been defeated?"

"I hope not," Astalor said. He kept shaking off Ennas' attempts to heal the wounds he'd re-reopened for his blood magic, saying, "Stop it. I _want _to be in pain."

"Without knowing how fast they move, and how many days ago they emerged… it's more likely the fighting is taking place near Silvermoon by now."

Lana'thel sounded matter-of-fact as she said this, but Kael discerned a wistfulness in her expression, as if she wished to be in the thick of a larger battle instead of the less heroic task of trudging from village to village scrubbing away the undead. He wondered how many of the others—other than Astalor, that is—felt the same; should he hurry their group north? No, he didn't think so; while he understood the impulse, he still felt that the best time to eliminate the undead was now, when they had so few victims available. "The defenders of Silvermoon surely have the invasion well in hand," he said. "I too am eager to join them, but I think we can best serve Quel'Thalas by cleansing the stray undead from our forest before they establish footholds."

"I agree," Selin said quickly.

"Take heart, Lana," Sandoval said. "Since the magisters haven't come back to their sanctums yet the battle must still be going on."

"Unless they're all well into a drunken celebration in Silvermoon by now," Keleseth said, "and we're missing the fun."

"I have an idea," Luthion said. "We could make the rounds much faster if we split into two or three groups. I could take a group to check the other sanctums while the rest of you go to Tranquillien, and we could send someone to the Enclave. At the very least we should ask the Farstriders where they've been patrolling—there's no need to re-check the areas they've been."

"The Farstriders?" Astalor scoffed. "Do they actually do anything useful? I think all they do is go off in the forest and polish each others' arrows."

"Don't forget filling empty quivers," Tenris said, earning hearty laughter.

"We don't need their help," Vanthryn said, "and even if we did, there's rarely anyone at the Enclave except the cook and the bowyer."

"Oh right, they have a cook! Let's at least go there to eat," Veras begged. "Farstrider food has to be better than dwarf bread. I would _kill _for a bite of grilled lynx steak."

"And it might kill you in return," someone pointed out. "You saw the size of that spider; the plague has already infected Eversong's aminals. Haven't you noticed how quiet it is? The birds have already died."

"Thanks for dashing my hopes," Veras said dryly.

"We should stay together," Atherann said. "If we are divided and come upon the undead army, what then?"

"Do you think it will make any difference?" Valanar replied. "Thirty will hardly be better than ten against ten thousand."

"Ten thousand?" one of the newer arrivals asked. "Are there that many invaders?"

"We're not going to waste time going to the Enclave," Vanthryn said to Luthion. "If we're lucky, we might run across someone who's been patrolling the troll areas."

"Then why didn't we see any Farstriders near the Gate?" Luthion asked. "If there are, as you say, _so many_ out patrolling."

"It is their way to remain hidden," Vanthryn said.

"You oppose everything I say. Why?" Luthion asked, giving Vanthryn a less-than-friendly shove. "My ideas are as good as yours."

"What you just did?" Vanthryn growled. "Was _that_ a good idea?"

"Enough!" Andorath said. "What is _wrong _with all of you? Have you already forgotten what Prince Kael'thas said about why we're here? it's not to make frivolous remarks about food, or to fight amongst ourselves! We are here to protect our homeland!"

Everyone became quiet after this, and the trek to toward Tranquillien continued in almost complete silence for a good half-hour.

.

As they once again crossed The Dying Path, which hewed almost directly north, Navarius and Freywinn stopped to gather samples of the vegetation and soil.

"Usually you can see the dragonhawks from here," Sarannis said, shading her eyes as she looked up the road that ascended to Tranquillien. "I guess everyone must have flown to Silvermoon."

"No," Sandoval said, "I don't think that's what happened." He pointed to a spot near the road, a small hollow partially obscured by a tree. In it was a ragged heap of yellow-orange.

Sarannis ran to look closer, and then returned a moment later to ask mournfully, "Why? Why destroy such beautiful creatures?"

"Because they fly," Solarian said.

Despite the fate of the dragonhawks, Tranquillien—which unsurprisingly was as deserted as the Spire had been—restored Vanthryn's good mood. "Centrally located on higher ground, pre-existing shelters… this will be an excellent base of operations," he said. "We can make it the distribution center for non-tainted food and drink, if someone can start a stockpile." He and Lana'thel then started discussing the most likely targets for undead encroachment—the Sun Sanctum, Andilien Estate, Suncrown and Goldenmist villages—and the most efficient route to investigate and safeguard them.

"Are you going to bring food in from Silvermoon?" Mellichar asked hopefully as he watched Pathaleon clear a space in preparation for casting a portal.

"No, we'd have to pay for that," Pathaleon said. "As long as Dalaran is handing out free food, I'm going to bring in as much as possible."

There was a collective groan. "It's not free if it takes a toll on your stomach," Veras grumbled.

Seeing that everything was under control, Kael walked a short way up the path to Sungraze Peak to where Astalor was pacing.

Astalor gave Kael a sullen look. "They act like this is… a recreational excursion," he said with undisguised contempt.

"Everyone here has fought as hard as you or I since we left Dalaran," Kael said. "Most of them have never encountered a real enemy before, and aren't accustomed to the ranger lifestyle. Don't begrudge them a little comfort."

Astalor looked away.

Kael wanted to suggest to Astalor that he quietly portal to Silvermoon and spend a few hours with Rommath—it was his impression that the two friends had been estranged ever since Rommath's return to Silvermoon—but not only was he unsure of how to broach this topic, he wasn't sure that he should. As Eldin used to say, _Mediators are perfectly positioned to be skewered by both sides._

_"You_ didn't need to endure these conditions," Astalor said. "No one would blame you if you'd gone to Dalaran and slept in your own bed, or ate decent food." He grimaced. "Unless you enjoy dwarven flatbread and rock cheese."

"Very few know of our secret stash at the palace," Kael said. "Vigorous chewing is the key to the royal bloodline."

Astalor gave a half-chuckle. "The secret to Sunstrider longevity, revealed at last," he said, but an instant later he added hurriedly, "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I didn't mean…" He rubbed his face. "I suppose I should sleep soon."

Kael knew Astalor hadn't meant his joking comment as a disrespectful reference to Eldin's death, and so he forgave him. "I made the decision to stay here," he said after a moment, "because my place is with my people. I can't ask them to do anything I wouldn't do."

.

A group that had scouted Andilien returned, reporting that the few ghouls skuling at the estate had been easily routed. Kael asked to take the next assignment if those who would accompany him had had a chance to rest. Vanthryn seemed surprised but of course agreed, directing Gathios, Tenris, and Selin to accompany Kael to the Sanctum of the Sun.

As the other had been, this sanctum was too empty, but Gathios observed that, unlike the Sanctum of the Moon, this sanctum's weapon racks were empty.

"While you look for other clues here," Kael said. "I am going to check something in the clearing."

"Of course," Gathios said.

It was probably nothing, Kael told himself, but he took the shortest path possible around the base of the cliff, moving quickly east and then north toward An'telas.

Even though he had considered the possibility, the sight still shocked him. The cloak dispelled, the hidden temple revealed, its altar smashed, its crystal taken. He was hurrying down the hill, planning to quickly check An'owyn but dreading what he might find there, when he saw Gathios and Tenris approaching.

"We became concerned when you did not return," Selin said.

"What is that?" Tenris asked, looking past Kael to the temple. "When was it put there?"

"I don't have time for explanations," Kael said, and this of course was true—but it was also true that only the Convocation magisters and the highest ranks of the Farstriders were allowed to know of Quel'Thalas' most powerful defense, the magically-cloaked temples that concealed the Key of the Three Moons. Precisely placed at intersections of ley-energy, the three crystal fragments sustained Ban'dinoriel, the unassailable shield that protected Silvermoon and Quel'Danas.

_He has what he needs._

"It's time to send someone to the Farstriders," Kael said.

A ranger in dark blue amor stepped from the thicket that had concealed him. "How many Farstriders would suffice?" he asked, smiling.

Kael was almost certain that the speaker was Halduron Brightwing. A moderately high-ranking ranger, if Kael recalled correctly, but if he did not have knowledge of the Gatekeeper he was of limited usefulness. "You may know that invaders destroyed The Sanctuary," Kael said.

"No, I did not." Halduron looked genuinely surprised. "When did this happen?"

"How could you have missed it?" Selin asked.

"I don't go that far west," Halduron said calmly. "We generally patrol the eastern border, keeping an eye on Amani activity."

"You must indeed have the distance vision of an eagle," Tenris said, "to observe the troll fortress from this far north."

"I am not the only one out of place," Halduron replied smoothly, "unless it is it customary for a band of thirty to roam the forest with a long-absent Prince."

"What are you insinuating?" Selin asked angrily.

"I do not insinuate," Halduron said, "only observe." He turned back to Kael. "The trolls have been unusually quiet the past few days; many of their villages are nearly deserted. We think they have withdrawn to the center of Zul'Aman, but for what purpose, we do not know."

"Hiding from the invaders," Gathios said, then added, "or considering how best to take advantage of the fact that, until we made camp there, there was no one to stop them from occupying Tranquillien. Or Windrunner Village, for that matter."

Halduron looked as though he might finally take offense, but said only, "We received word that there was unexpected activity in the Amani catacombs," he said. "Lor'themar came up here to investigate, but when he didn't report back…" He looked up the hill, toward the temple wreckage, and said, "Who revealed it?"

So he did know, at least some of it. "I only know that it is hidden no longer," Kael said.

"Hidden?" Tenris asked. "Are there other hidden places?"

Kael didn't reply; he and Halduron studied each other until Kael kept that they had come to an unspoken concordance.

"If you'll excuse me," Halduron said at last, "I need to continue my search for Lor'themar. I assume you haven't run into him?"

"No."

"Where do you suggest I look for him?" Halduron asked, as casually as if the question had no import.

"How is Prince Kael'thas supposed to know that?" Selin asked.

An'daroth, the third of the temples, was almost directly north of the Sanctum of the Moon, and midway between Goldenmist and Suncrown. "We haven't been north of the Sanctum of the Moon," Kael said.

"So it's possible that he's in that area between Goldenmist and Suncrown? That's very helpful," Halduron said with a small bow. He then left them so swiftly that only a rustle of leaves marked his departure.

"How rude," Selin said.

"Back to Tranquillien?" Tenris asked.

"Not just yet," Kael said. "Let's follow this road south and see if any undead are infesting anything along the way."

"Does that mean we're checking another hidden place?" Tenris asked.

Kael didn't answer, but once An'ownyn came into view he didn't have to. Another cloak dispelled, another altar smashed, another crystal missing. Unlike An'telas, however, here there were undead: an abomination, several ghouls… and two undead elves.

As Kael started to cast a needle-like pain stabbed at his head and the world seemed to _ripple_. He staggered; as Selin steadied him he heard Tenris say, "What was that? Did anyone else feel that?"

"What's wrong?" Selin was asking him.

"I'm fine, it's gone now," Kael said. "It was just a momentary pang. Let's dispose of these undead quickly; I'd like to get back to Tranquillien before sunset."

"Sunset?" Tenris laughed. "You have lived too long in the human lands, my prince. Have you forgotten that the sun never sets here in the blessed Realm Eternal?"

At first Kael thought it was merely fatigue—he had, after all, been fighting all day long, every day for almost a week—but by the time the four of them started for Tranquillien through the long shadows of late afternoon—and they _were_ long shadows, Kael noticed even if the others didn't—he knew it was more than that. He had found it difficult to focus his energy for his spells when fighting just now; if not for timely intervention by the others, he would have been overwhelmed by the undead more than once. It was as if there was something _missing_, although he couldn't say exactly what: it was like living near the shore, where the unceasing sound of the waves quickly becomes so familiar that it ceases to be heard until it is absent. Now he felt as though something that had always whispered in the background of his mind was silent.

Astalor met him on the road. "Have you tried opening a portal to Silvermoon?" he asked without preamble. "See if you can do it."

Smiling a little at Astalor's brusqueness, Kael began casting the portal spell… and then froze. He could produce nothing: it was as if he had opened his mouth to speak and been without sound, without voice. He was aghast.

"Pathaleon had a portal to Dalaran up for a while, but since then no one has been able to open anything," Solarian said.

"I think the invaders have somehow turned the runestones against us," Astalor said, "It's the only way to block the arcane."

It wasn't an entirely far-fetched theory—the runestone function was to restrict the use of magic by non-elven races within Quel'Thalas—but he didn't see how it could have been done. "Are all types of magic affected?" Kael asked, trying not to look at Astalor's forearms. "Has Malande tried?"

"She's fine," Astalor said, sounding more than a bit resentful. "I suppose we ought to be grateful the healers aren't affected." He pushed up his sleeves and folded his arms, flaunting his wounds. "And yes, blood magic seems to be blocked as well, which makes no sense to me when Light-based spells aren't. But then there shouldn't be any way to reverse the dampening spell on the runestones."

"Unless the runestones were already defective," Kael said. He looked at the setting sun, which had almost reached the horizon. Did the others truly not see it?

"We should go check them, I suppose," Astalor said.

"Do you truly not see—?" he started to ask; but then, as the setting sun began to slip out of sight, as agony lanced into him like a sword-thrust to the heart, comprehension bloomed and burned away the inexplicable lassitude that had fogged his thoughts since An'owyn.

Those who knew of the three crystals knew that they were three pieces of a Key, dating from the time of Dath'Remar, that had been precisely placed at intersections of ley-energies in order to secretly power Ban'dinoriel, the Gatekeeper, that shielded Silvermoon and the island of Quel'Danas and made them unassailable. Removing the three crystals from their hiding places was said to unlock, in turn, "the mind, heart, and the soul" of the Gatekeeper. Most—the Farastriders and many of the magisters—believed this to be flowery, meaningless rhetoric, and that in practical terms dislodging the crystals simply meant that the magisters of Silvermoon would have to channel Ban'dinoriel. Which was true, but there was a deeper layer of meaning to the lore of the GateKeeper and its Key, a deeper meaning known only to select members of the Convocation. In truth, the mind, the heart, and the soul of the Gatekeeper referred to the three true treasures of Quel'Thalas: the circle of magisters, who for all their internecine maneuverings were as united in their dedication to their homeland as anyone; the King, who for thousands of years had been a personification of the highest, most noble virtues of their people; and the Sunwell, which, in addition to being the source of their magic and the bedrock upon which their society was built, was the spark at the core of each quel'dorei's being. As long as these three treasures remained, the quel'dorei would endure.

Kael now knew what was missing, what had left him enveloped in increasingly deafening silence. His connection to the Silvermoon magisters, his awareness of the music they made as they drew upon the energies dancing through the ley-lines, was gone… because _they_ were gone. Something, someone, had slain the magisters who could have maintained Ban'dinoriel. He did not know how it was that he knew this, but he knew it with a certainty that choked him with dread.

"The Eye of the mind," he whispered. "The Stone of the heart. We must…"

"My lord, what must we do?" Gathios asked.

"The sun!" someone gasped. "Look at the sun! What is happening to it?"

There was no longer any question whether the temple containing the An'daroth crystal was intact. "Ban'dinoriel," Kael said dully, "has fallen."

Everyone crowded around then, asking for portals so that they could go to Silvermoon's aid. When Astalor explained that they could not, that their magic was blocked, Lana'thel said she and the fastest runners would run to bring hawkstriders back from the groups guarding the Gate and the ruins of The Sanctuary. Everyone knew that that wouldn't be enough, of course, but they had to do _something._

As the sunlight began to retreat, as the warmth that they had taken for granted for so long began to ebb away, Kael'thas braced himself for the final blow.

It didn't take long. As the last sliver of the sun disappeared below the horizon, they were crushed by the shockwave that rolled across the land as their last, most precious treasure was taken from them.

And then, for the first time in six thousand years, night fell on the Realm Eternal.

.

.

_Next chapter: The aftermath._

_._

_._

While I've kept the MMO's geography in mind while writing this chapter, like many of Blizzard's official writers I use more of an "RPG" scale in mapping out travel times in Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas (e.g., WC3 had Arthas' trip from Andorhal to the border of Quel'Thalas take six days; I didn't go quite that far, but neither was it the 12 minutes it takes to run on foot or the 39 minutes it takes to role-play walk that distance in-game).

The idea of The Sanctuary (named The Haven in the initial draft, and then changed due to DA:I) is an elaboration of the "Elven Village" destroyed in Chapter Three ("Into the Realm Eternal") of the Undead campaign in _Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos._ The idea that the Nerubians tunneled from Stratholme into the place that they would remake into Deatholme has been my headcanon for a number of years.

Finally, I tried, as much as possible, to accommodate the events and timelines set out in WC3 and _Blood of the Highborne, _but I have occasionally deviated from those sources for story purposes.

.

26 Dec 2014; rev 17 Jan 2015


	9. The Halls of Theory (Vexallus) 4

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: Unaware of the full impact of the undead invasion, Kael and his followers make their way toward Silvermoon._

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 9: The Halls (Vexallus), Part IV<br>**

_by silverr_

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><p>.<p>

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~ : |9| : ~

_Con… sume…_

_._

Is that the best you can do? What a shock it must be for you to discover that brute force does not assure victory.

I am curious to see what your next move will be.

Will you respond to the unforeseen and unwelcome by cowering in a corner, pretending it doesn't exist as you desperately try to dream a pleasant dream? If you're lucky, the darkness might devour you as you sleep.

Or perhaps you'll admit defeat and attempt to flee. Be careful, though—that path often takes you directly into the heart of the abyss, where not even death is an escape.

I myself admire those who carve out a third option, who sound their war cry to the last and embrace the pain and absurdity of existence—for they sometimes find that reality is more malleable than it seems.

.

.

.

Kael'thas knew he tended to think of the quel'dorei that followed him in the collective sense, as "his people," but regretfully, he simply hadn't had time or opportunity to get to know more than a dozen or so as unique individuals.

He learned quite a bit about all of them that night, observing their reactions in the moonless darkness of Tranquillien.

A reckless few set out for Silvermoon—after accusing Astalor and the other mages of withholding portals (though they dared not mention Kael in that group). Some clung in fear to friends, or announced their intention to find alcohol and drink until drunk; others emerged as natural leaders, helping Vanthryn herd everyone to the upper floor of Tranquillien's inn. A handful settled down like a drowsy litter of kittens in an alcove, but most were too stunned to sleep and instead talked quietly, wondering how the battle was going, fretting over their friends and colleagues in Silvermoon and whether the undead would attack Tranquillien in the night. A few sat apart, staring at the faintly-glowing gems of their affinity charms as if their loved ones could be summoned to them… if only they concentrated hard enough.

Kael heard Astalor say peevishly, "It's _ridiculous!_ They've all been living in Dalaran, but they act as if they've never experienced the sunless period called night before."

"Fixating on the darkness will allow them to feel comfort when the sun rises," Andorath replied.

"Don't patronize me!"

"Stop taking it out on us," Vorath said. "Check your stone: he's probably fine."

"This isn't about Rommath!" Astalor snapped back.

"Of course not," Vorath said. "Of course not."

Kael was momentarily puzzled by this exchange—and then it all fell into place. All this time he had attributed Astalor's protectiveness and jealousy concerning Rommath to the fact that the two had been friends since adolescence; why had it not occurred to him that the reaction might have been that of an intimate partner? If Astalor knew of Rommath's confession… His inexplicable hostility suddenly made far too much sense.

Now uneasy with how badly he might have misread the situation and inadvertently blundered in his dealings with his two most trusted advisors, Kael made his way toward the ramp that led outside.

Vanthryn was watching for undead while waiting for Lana'thel to return with hawkstriders; it took Kael a moment to find him, a slightly darker shadow standing under a tree a short distance down the road from the inn.

"Is anyone in there getting any sleep?" Vanthryn asked as Kael came to stand next to him.

"Most are too worried about those they know in the city or on the Isle."

After several minutes of silence had passed Vanthryn asked, "What do _you _think is happening?"

"Something has overthrown a part of the world we knew," Kael said. "We will have to restore it."

"Where do we start?" Vanthryn asked.

"I will want to check Runestone Falithas—and possibly Shan'dor as well—on the way to Silvermoon."

"You think the invaders sabotaged the runestones?" Vanthryn nodded. "It makes sense. The runestones have been protecting us for so long they're taken for granted. Almost forgotten."

"At the very least," Kael said, "I suspect the runestones' wards were circumvented by the invaders. If so, we must know how, and address whatever weakness they may have found." He knew that his father wouldn't approve of his next action, but he would deal with Anasterian's disapproval later. "I want to ask the Kirin Tor for help in this."

"If you wish," Vanthryn said. "We'll send a rider as soon as Lana returns with the hawkstriders."

"It is taking a long time," Kael said. Lana'thel had taken only two scouts with her; had they run into more undead at the Gate, or more invaders at The Sanctuary?

"You're worried about her," Vanthryn said.

There was no point in denying it. Even though he told himself that Lana'thel could handle anything that was out in Eversong's now-shadowy woodland, he became more and more tense until he heard her returning.

She was on foot, and alone.

"Where are the others?" Vanthryn asked.

"I sent Hanariel and Felesaria to Quel'Lithien, to let them know what's happened. They should be able to spare a dragonhawk," she said, sagging against the tree, "because both our camps were empty. No people, no hawkstriders."

"Empty?" Vanthryn asked. "What do you mean, _empty?_ Where did they go? They didn't just disappear!"

"I know," Lana'thel said. "I know. There was activity at The Sanctuary, but we didn't think it was our people."

"Why not?" Kael asked. "Perhaps the squads moved there to help rebuild—"

"No," Lana'thel said. "I'm certain that whoever—_whatever_—is working there isn't elven. Or human, or any other being we've seen before. We only got glimpses because it was dark and we didn't want to risk getting close, but…" She shuddered. "The _sounds _they made." She exhaled loudly. "Felesaria said it looked as though they're putting down footings for walls and a gate at the mouth of the valley."

"That's—all right, get some sleep, if you can," Vanthryn said. "We'll check it out once the sun comes up."

.

The morning often seems as if it will never come to those oppressed by the night.

Kael, who had spent the night sitting under the tree in companionable silence with Vanthryn, watched his people begin to emerge from Tranquillien's inn at first light (or creep in pairs and trios from the woods). Some gaped at the sky as if they'd never seen such a color before; others seemed mesmerized by how the leaves in the treetops began to glow green with the first sunbeams; and a few stood hugging themselves, weeping with relief that they were still alive. "How strange," Capernian said wonderingly. "It seems like a new world."

Vanthryn said that they should divide into two groups so as to more quickly clear the undead from the remaining villages south of the river. Luthion countered that, as nearly half their number were unable to fight, the idea was a poor one. Bristling and glowering followed. Kael, who had no patience for their pettiness, told them to determine the wishes of the group as a whole and abide by that, then walked away, across the road and toward the arch that led to Tranquillien's small magisters' sanctum.

At the last moment, though, he decided not to go in—with his magical abilities so crippled, he hardly felt like a magister—and instead went around around the building to stand at the edge of the hill. Below him was the Dying Path, no longer dying but dead, its verdure entirely drained of color, the soil underneath looking as if it had been charred by flames. He was tired of bad news; he wanted to turn back the clock and erase the events of the past few days, the past few years. _I want Quel'Thalas to remain forever untouched by the Scourge. I want Eldin to be alive, and Jaina to be happy. Whatever the price, even if it meant giving my own life in exchange, I would happily pay…_

There was a sound behind him: Malande and Selin.

"It's so ugly," Malande said, making a face. "I hope it won't be that way for long."

"It won't," Selin told her. "You'll see. Freywinn and Navarius are already talking about fixing it. Soon it will be as if it never happened."

Kael wasn't as optimistic, but he said nothing.

"What do you think?" Malande asked him. "Can we heal this horrible wound on our land?"

She looked so uncertain and lost that Kael knew he couldn't answer honestly; but then he had been taught from infancy that moments like this were what it meant to be a Sunstrider, that his own feelings might at times be a luxury he must set aside for the good of his people. "Yes," he told her, " I'm sure we will find a way."

A moment later the group in front of the inn began to disperse, all but a few hurrying north toward Silvermoon.

Astalor—followed by Lana'thel, Ennas, Sarannis, and three young elves carrying bows—crossed the road to Kael.

"The _majority"_ —Astalor gave this word a disdainful emphasis— "feel that, as the runestones obviously failed to stop the invaders, there is nothing to be gained by examining them. As they are not affected by whatever is affecting the arcane, they want to travel directly to Silvermoon, and not 'waste time' with anything along the way."

"I see." Kael did understand: there was certainly a part of him eager to get to Silvermoon and see how the city and the Isle had managed without Ban'dinoriel. But what if additional waves of invaders decided to march on Quel'Thalas while her borders were defenseless? It was a possibility: after all, the dozen elves missing from the southern camps hadn't evaporated into the air. He felt he could be most useful here, doing this small task… He looked away from Astalor, at the Dying Path. No, in truth, he was reluctant to go to Silvermoon, and the need to examine the runestones was little more than a scrabble for justification. Most of it was his reluctance to be subjected to yet more _Your place is here with your people, not with the humans_ censure from his father; alongside that was an irrational apprehension that perhaps Sylvanas and her Rangers and the Convocation had _not _been enough to defend the city. He tried—and failed—to avoid thinking of Voren'thal's prophecy: in his mind's eye he saw that pall of white and red and black, bone and blood and death.

"Ennas and I will assist you," Astalor said. "Ennas tells me that Deryn has talked his ears raw more than once about druidic warding spells, so he might have picked up something useful."

"I will join the escort," Selin said. "You need protection."

"He's right," Lana'thel said. "There are almost certainly more undead north of us. I apologize for being blunt, my lord, but currently your magic is crippled. You're going to be vulnerable until it's restored to full power. We four," she nodded at Sarannis and the archers, "will come along as well."

"I appreciate these offers," Kael said, "but there's no need. Certainly one lone elf can escape notice by the undead; I'll await the Kirin Tor near Shan'dor or Falithas, and join you as soon as I can. "

"_Three_ will escape notice," Astalor said. "The rest of you go on ahead."

Lana'thel almost smiled. "He needs more than just you and a priest, Astalor."

Astalor replied by pulling out a dagger.

Lana'thel shook her head. "As I said, he'll need someone when you run out of blood."

.

In the end, despite his demurs, Kael was surrounded by nine companions: Astalor, the priests Malande and Ennas, Lana'thel, Sarannis, Selin, and three archers.

Runestone Shan'dor was across the river, directly north of Suncrown Village, and so it seemed reasonable, as they had with Eversong's other villages, to look in on Suncrown and assess whether or not any undead had occupied it.

What they found at Suncrown was worse than undead. Nightmare creatures, twice the size of a hawkstrider, a spider-like lower body of six chitinous legs and a barbed, obscenely quivering abdomen fused to an upright toro, whose segmented arms ended in lethal-looking claws. Pendulous mandibles in constant motion hung from the grotesque crested head.

"At least eight," Lana'thel said. "There are likely to be more inside the buildings."

"Garithos called those grasshoppers?" Malande whispered. "Obviously he's never seen grasshoppers."

"He said something large and murderous had burrowed into the riverbanks in Lordaeron," Astalor said, his eyes narrowing. "They fit the description. They're probably what tunneled into The Sanctuary; Stratholme's not far from the river." He pushed his sleeve up and took out his dagger. "I'm going to kill them all."

"No." Kael grabbed Astalor's wrist before he could draw blood. "You can't charge in with your flame shield the way you did at Windrunner." There was some trivial fact struggling to surface, something about tunnels and spiders and death, but at the moment it eluded him.

Astalor pulled out of Kael's grasp. "Why not? You saw what they did to—"

"Yes," Kael said, "I saw. Which is why I will _not _allow you to risk being torn apart. We must do this together."

Unlike mindless ghouls—who paid no attention when their comrades were picked off one by one—the spider-creatures seemed able to communicate, for when Kael and his group attacked one near the edge of the village it apparently called to the others, and an instant later they were swarmed.

Kael put up a shield-dome an instant too late to save one of the archers: her scream was cut short as she was sliced in half. Paralyzed in horrified disbelief as the spiders began to dismember her corpse, it was only Lana'thel's shout of, "Move!" that galvanized them into escaping across the river.

Expecting pursuit, they prepared to make their stand with their backs against Runestone Shan'dor, but the spider-creatures had not followed.

"I wonder if it's the water or the runestone that's stopping them?" Sarannis asked, watching the spiders carry off shreds of bloody flesh to various buildings.

"Does it matter?" Ennas asked. He was wringing out the hem of his robe.

"I think it does," Lana'thel said. "If it's not the runestone, we have to hope that they don't decide to teach themselves to swim."

"Why don't we leave clearing this village for later?" Selin said, looking to Kael for confirmation. "Until we can come back with a larger group from Silvermoon?"

"No," Sarannis said. "We can't. You saw these eggs—they're everywhere. What if they're about to hatch? In a few days we might be too late."

Kael suddenly suspected that the others might be imagining what he was now picturing—the remains of the archer being set out for imminent spider hatchlings to feast on.

"I agree," Astalor said. "We must kill them, now, and destroy all their eggs."

And so they began. Along with Malande and Ennas, Kael spent most of his energy shielding Selin, Sarannis, Lana'thel, and the two remaining archers—Astalor stood apart, sending out a steady barrage of fireballs from behind a flame shield—but maintaining the shields against the spiders' brutal, unrelenting attacks was so debilitating that Kael needed time to recover between each foray across the river. The others made a show of patience, but Kael wasn't fooled: he knew they were as disgusted with his weakness as he was. The only reason he didn't open a vein and attempt to power his shields with blood magic was his suspicion that he would wield blood magic as ineffectively as he was currently wielding arcane magic.

Then too, the creatures themselves forced Kael's people to be extra-cautious: not only did the spiders seem to have a method of silent communication, but enough intelligence to learn from each skirmish and change their tactics. During the third encounter fewer spiders charged the group of elves outright; most dropped down on them from the upper floors and roofs of nearby buildings. After the elves began forcing the fights to take place further from the buildings, the creatures ambushed from the trees, or tried to cut them off from retreating across the river.

Every battle was close: the elves were tiring, but the the number of spiders steadily decreased, and they even managed to incinerate the quivering clusters of gelatinous eggs in several buildings. Once it became too dark to fight, the group crossed the river and prepared to spend the night at the base of Runestone Shan'dor.

"This isn't what's disrupting my arcane energy," Astalor said, glaring at the runestone's erratically pulsing sigil as he tried once again to open a portal to Silvermoon. "If a suppression spell was centered here, the resistance would be much stronger than it was in Tranquillien, but it feels about the same. I think this stone's simply been deactivated."

"Alright," Kael said wearily. "We'll check the other runestones tomorrow, see if they've been deactivated as well. If the Kirin Tor can't help us restore them, we'll send Vandril or Deryan down here once we get to Silvermoon."

"The Kirin Tor?" Astalor asked. "Surely you don't expect any of the non-elves to rouse themselves on our behalf?"

"I am a senior member," Kael said. _And one of the Council of Six._ "The Kirin Tor will send someone."

He spent the night alternating brief naps with guard duty, but by morning felt even less rested than he had the evening before—although he did have a hazy half-memory that at some point, when he had awakened and started to relinquish his sleeping spot, Lana'thel had softly told him he could sleep a while longer, as it wasn't yet his time.

After a reconnaissance of Suncrown brought the welcome news that no new spider-creatures had joined their brethren overnight, they attacked the remaining invaders with renewed energy. By early afternoon they had killed the last of them, destroyed every cache of eggs (including a few that appeared to have been hastily buried), and crossed the river for the last time. When a final inspection of Runestone Shan'dor yielded no new insights, they set out for Runestone Falithas.

Although Shan'dor was the central of the five runestones spaced across Eversong along the north bank of the Elrandar, Runestone Falithas—to the west of the road that led to Silvermoon—was the closest to where the enemy had marched. Kael felt that if any of the runestones had been subverted, Falithas was the most likely candidate.

Under different circumstances the trek from Shan'dor to Falithas would have been a pleasant one; the sunlight was warm, the rustle as they trudged through the grass of the riverbank was soothing, and the murmur and splash of the small waterfalls they passed compensated somewhat for the lack of birdsong—although even here the trunks of many trees were marred by the greenish excrescences that were rampant in the southern forests.

The sun had slipped into late afternoon by the time they reached the Silvermoon road. Unsurprisingly, the nearby sanctum looked to have been hastily abandoned, but at least its well and provisions appeared untouched. As Sarannis and Lana'thel drew water to refill the canteens, Selin and Malande searched for anything edible that they could be certain pre-dated the taint of the plague; happily, there were several sealed containers of dried fruit and spiced meat. As the hungry group shared this impromptu feast—their first meal since the dwarven provisions they'd eaten in Tranquillien—Kael could almost pretend that events of the past two days had been a bad dream.

And then, as they set out once again for Runestone Falithas, they came in sight of the Dying Path. The brittle grey leaves crumbled into ash as they hurried across.

Unlike Shan'dor, Falithas' rune was entirely dimmed. Astalor tried once again to open a portal, and then shook his head. "Same as Shan'dor," he said. "This isn't the cause."

"We should examine one more," Kael said. "Belore'endal isn't much further, and we'll be able to check Goldenmist Village for invaders when we're there." Runestone Belore'endal was at the southern boundary of an ancient oak grove, on the high ground north of the waterfall that fed the Elrendar river into the sea. At the base of the waterfall, across the river, was Goldenmist, sister to Windrunner.

Borrowing Astalor's dagger, Kael incised the symbol of the arcane eye into the packed earth in front of the runestone. "I'll leave a message here for the Kirin Tor," he said, "so they'll know we were here."

"If they see it at all," Astalor said.

"I told you—" Kael started to say.

"I just mean that they'll probably teleport to directly to Silvermoon from Dalaran," Astalor said. "If they even get the message that you've requested them."

Lana'thel took offense. "Hanariel and Felesaria are absolutely dependable."

"Yes, and I'm sure they run very fast," Astalor said dismissively, "but what might they have encountered on their way to Quel'Lithien? And, assuming they arrived safely, how quickly will the Farstriders contact Dalaran—if they can even be convinced to do so?" He turned back to Kael. "Leave a mark here if you must, my lord, but I think it's best not to wait for assistance that may never arrive. Let us check one more runestone if we must, and the village too, but after that let's hasten to Silvermoon."

Kael could tell from the uneasy expressions of the others that they agreed but were reluctant to say so. He supposed that Astalor was right: they were not, strictly speaking, obligated to wait at a runestone. "Your point is well taken," he said. "Belore'endal and Goldenmist, and then we'll join the others."

They had covered about half the distance between Falithas and Belore'endal when Astalor stopped walking, reached into the collar of his robe, and pulled a small pendant with a glowing blue gem into view—a gem that looked like an affinity stone. When he noticed Kael looking at him he turned away.

Recalling Vorath's needling of Astalor at Tranquillien, Kael wondered if the stone's glow meant that Astalor's partner was nearby… and was it Rommath, or someone else?

Astalor had been scrutinizing the forest to the north, but now he turned suddenly and stared at the river. Someone in drab scout's leathers was swimming toward them while holding a rucksack high out of the water. As the swimmer splashed into the swallows and then stood, Astalor ran and embraced them briefly, then said, "Idiot. What are you doing out here?" His tone was gruff, but he smoothed a strand of dark wet hair back off the swimmer's forehead.

"I was looking for you," the swimmer replied.

It was Rommath. When he saw Kael he began rummaging in his rucksack. "Fortunately the alchemy lab in the Sanctum of the Moon was undamaged," he said as he pulled out two small vials filled with a pale lavender fluid. He handed one to Astalor and, avoiding eye contact, held the vial other out to Kael. "Arcane elixir. It will temporarily restore your magic. I'm… I'm relieved you're alive!"

"What has happened?" Astalor said. "How did you get here? Did you teleport? Did you know that the runestones have been deactivated? Is Ban'dinoriel holding? Has anyone been hurt?"

"I don't know how…" Rommath looked from one face to another, hesitating.

"Your eyes." Astalor took Rommath by the shoulders and, when Rommath tried to twist away, forced the other elf to face him. "What's happened to your eyes?"

Kael saw it too: Rommath's eyes were no longer the clear, pure blue of the sky; they were now darker, almost violet, and dulled as if overlaid by an oily haze.

"We don't know all of it," Rommath said, bowing his head to avoid Astalor's scrutiny. "Where to start… "

"At the beginning."

"He brought an endless army. Undead monstrosities... winged creatures of nightmare. Sylvanas… Grand Magister Belo'vir… hundreds… _thousands_ slain. The city's children drowned." He looked up, and Kael physically recoiled from the pain in his tainted eyes. "The Convocation was betrayed. Murdered. Ban'dinoriel was gone. Your father held Quel'Danas as long as he could. They all did."

"The Isle?" Kael asked faintly. "The Isle is taken?" Somehow he knew what Rommath was about to say, had known it the moment the agony had lanced his heart two days before, just before the sun had set for the first time.

"Yes." Rommath made a sound, a sharp intake of breath. "Silvermoon is a ruin. The King has fallen. The Sunwell has been defiled."

Someone cried out.

"Who?" Kael'thas felt a firestorm unfurling from the core of his being. "Who did this? Who brought the army? _Who killed my father?"_

"Those that survived say it was Arthas Menethil."

He would find Arthas if he had to burn down every hiding place in Azeroth. Arthas, who had spread the trail of blight across Quel'Thalas; Arthas, who had taken _everything,_ not just from Kael, but from his people as well—their King, their Sunwell, their forests, their lives_._ Overwhelmed with the need for vengeance, Kael shouted his rage at the darkening sky, and then, stretching up his arms, the flames rippled over the sleeves of his robe and became fiery feathers. Screaming his fury, with one savage wingbeat, he was aloft, breathing a cleansing flame on his forest. To save it from further degradation, he would set everything from the river to Goldenbough Pass ablaze, destroying what he could not save… until the sky itself was red. Through the shimmering fire, he saw spirals and wing-like furrows being carved into the barren ground below, intersecting overlapping circles that bloomed like ripples from a stone thrown into a pond—although instead of sinking, these stones rose up, became a thicket of pointed towers that for some reason reminded him of Dalaran. His wings gone, he resigned himself to death as he began to fall—and then, as the towers that rushed toward him inexplicably began to crumble, there was music, music such as he'd never heard before, crushingly sad and yet uplifting, regretful and yet full of hope, like a sliver of light in an oppressive darkness. He turned to look for the source and saw a ghostly figure with long white hair and a staff falling with him. Though the ghost's features shifted and blurred, Kael was certain that it was the spirit of his father. His heart leapt with sudden joy—a second chance to say everything he had never said!— but before he could speak, the ghost too began to burn. Kael reached for him, catching only a handful of ashes; as everything Kael fell into oblivion, he thought he heard the ghost say _You must persevere._

And then there was only darkness, darkness so complete that he could not tell if his eyes were open or not. He was no longer flying or falling; the ground under his back was cold. Something pressed on his chest, weighing him down with softness and warmth. One of his hands was clenched tight around something that felt like a pebble. He heard soft indistinct words, laughter, and he became aware that he was very, very thirsty.

It took all his energy to open his eyes. He saw a deep blue nothingness, but then he realized that he was seeing the twilight of an early evening sky. There was the faint glow off to one outside of his field of vision; sunset? As he moved his head to look, he saw Lana'thel, sleeping with her head and arms on his chest. He tried to say something to her, but his lips were so parched they were sealed shut. He managed to lift his arm and touch her shoulder.

Startled, she gasped and sat up, and then her face crumpled with tears. In an instant, Selin and Sarannis had crowded around her to see, and Ennas and one of the archers helped him sit up. Astalor, sitting some distance away on the other side of a small camp fire, stood up when he saw Kael: for once, he was smiling. There was no sign of Rommath.

After taking a long draught of water from Selin's canteen, Kael asked, "What… happened?"

They all tried to talk at once, but after a moment they quieted and let Lana'thel explain. "There was an explosion," she said. "Knocked us to the ground. When we recovered, we saw an enormous fire shield where you had been standing. There was no sign of you, and we couldn't tell whether or not you were behind the fire shield."

"It was blinding, even in the sunlight!" one of the archers interjected, but she was quickly shushed.

"After a moment there was a loud cry, like a hawk's," Lana'thel continued, "and then, a bird of flame rose from it." She held up her hands and said wonderingly, "It flew straight up, high into the air as if it didn't want to harm us with the gusts from its wings, and then it circled around the oak grove, breathing fire until everything was burning."

"I thought that was… a dream." Kael looked at the grove. Apparently the fire had burned out quickly, for only scorched earth and blackened tree trunks with leafless branches remained. Now and again there was the crackling sound of cooling embers.

Lana'thel shook her head. "No, it wasn't a dream."

"And then it dove back into the flame shield," Astalor said, "which dissipated to show us what we _thought _was your lifeless body. The priests determined that you weren't dead, however, but in an unusually deep and unresponsive sleep." Astalor folded his arms and walked closer, "Since then, unable to save the grove and unable to help you, we've spent our time watching the one cool to cinders and the other hover at the edge of death."

"Rommath was right after all," Malande said to Astalor. "The gem must have kept him alive."

"You can't be certain of that," Astalor said. "He transformed into a phoenix; I'd think anyone would need time to recover from such a feat."

"What gem?" Kael asked.

"The one you've been holding since you collapsed," Sarannis said.

Kael finally opened his hand. What had felt like an ordinary pebble was actually a smooth oval gem of dark reddish-violet.

"Astalor thought it might be preventing you from awaking, but when he tried to pry it out of your hand, it burned him."

"Burned is too mild a word," Astalor said. He unfolded his arms and studied his fingertips. "It took my flesh off to the bone. Fortunately our healers are skilled."

"Rommath said that since the gem obviously wasn't harming _you,"_ Malande said, "that perhaps it was safeguarding your life force."

"It's a shame he couldn't stay long enough to have his theory validated." Astalor said this calmly, but to Kael any time Astalor spoke to him concerning Rommath, each word and expression now seemed eloquent with reproach. "We all agreed it was best for him to go back to Silvermoon and tell the populace that their new King was 'on his way while surveying the Scourge presence in Eversong.' "

_Their new King._ The words made Kael feel physically ill. "Rommath's going to lie to them?"

"I wouldn't consider it a lie," Astalor said. "Granted, it won't have been the truth when he first got there to tell it, but it _is_ what you were doing last week before all of this happened, and it will be true again as soon as we begin to travel. We'll pass Fairbreeze and one of the sanctums, and could detour to check the Anchorage and the other sanctums as well, if you wish."

"What do you mean, 'when he first got there' ?" Kael wasn't sure he'd heard correctly: Astalor was talking as if this had all happened days instead of hours ago. "How long was I asleep?"

"Four days," Lana'thel said. She made a half-gesture, as if she were going to touch Kael's face, but instead quickly stood and moved away from him, toward the river.

"Why didn't you all return with Rommath?" Kael asked Astalor. He was angry; angry that they had lost four days, four days that they could have been helping the survivors in Silvermoon; angry that they hadn't left his useless carcass there, in the ashes of the grove he had destroyed; angry that he couldn't bring himself to feel grateful to them for watching over him… and under it all, anger at Arthas, as constant and pervasive as the liquid rock that flowed beneath the skin of the earth.

"And leave you here to be eaten by lynxes?" Astalor scoffed, and then his expression softened slightly. "He made us promise to stay and protect you."

.

Two days days later, Kael'thas walked toward the ruins of Silvermoon to face what was left of his father's glorious kingdom.

Even before he saw the toppled walls, the broken gates—the Sun Gate was utterly destroyed, buried in rubble—it was obvious that something terrible had transpired. The velvety green lawns were trampled into mud, and studded with broken weapons and siege wagons. The air, foul with the smell of rotting flesh, choked them; the buzz and scrabble of carrion flies and rats was unceasing. Though the scene was softened, tinted blue and gray by the gloom of twilight, Kael found it horrifying; he could only imagine how much more harrowing it would be in full daylight.

Passing through the secondary gate, Kael and his contingent were met by Rommath, a handful of Farstriders led by Lor'themar Theron—a leather patch over Lor'themar's left eye only partially concealed a grievous, half-healed wound—and a hundred grim-faced elves whose hostility toward Kael and his group was palpable.

And why would they feel other than hostile, seeing Kael arrive more than a week after Arthas' assault? Even though he knew his words would be entirely inadequate, Kael knew he needed to say something. "I know this has been difficult," he began, but in an instant the crowd was shouting, at him, at each other, and there was the feel of a gathering explosion.

Lor'themar and the others protectively closed ranks around him, and Kael asked to see his father's body.

.

"They said they were hungry," Malande said as they made their way to the inn where Anasterian had been laid out. "Perhaps we can ask for a share of the rations that Ironforge sends to Dalaran?"

"No," Kael said without thinking, and then, recalling the dream he'd had after his transformation into the phoenix, he asked Rommath, "Something happened to Dalaran, didn't it?"

"Yes," Rommath said, looking only momentarily surprised. "I myself only just received confirmation. About a week ago, Dalaran's defenses were breached by a terrifying stranger who took the Book of Medivh from the Arcane Vault."

"Gorefiend again?" Astalor asked.

"No one knows," Rommath said. "Two days ago, according to those who witnessed it from the far side of Lordamere Lake, just as the sun was setting the very buildings of Dalaran crumbled like sand, levelled in an instant as if flattened by a titanic hand. Most citizens are presumed dead."

"And the Kirin Tor?" Kael asked. "What of Antonidas?"

"Many of the Kirin Tor are unaccounted for," Rommath said. "The only confirmed deaths are those who were killed by the stranger." He paused. "Antonidas was among them."

And then they reached the inn, and left Kael alone to with his father say farewell.

.

There were lists of names, so many names, of the dead or missing. His people all, among them his nephews and nieces, old teachers and lovers, many he had admired, or called friends. He knew he should rage and grieve for them as well, but he was a husk, at the limits of his grief. That evening, watching as they prepared his father for the pyre—it was not their way to burn, but all those killed by undead must be burned—thinking that everything he held dear had been taken from him, he felt no more emotion than a stone does when the wind flows over it.

In the hours and days that followed, he received report after report: the percentage of the city that had been destroyed, the locations of entrenched pockets of undead, the estimates of when the city would run out of fresh water and untainted food, the movement of the Amani, slinking along the coast like lynxes stalking wounded prey. He observed the anger of the populace, who were resentful that he had not been among them in their darkest hour. Guilt began to coil in his belly, waiting to gnaw at him during sleepless nights, and he became more and more certain that the only way to soothe the anger, to allay the guilt, was to destroy the monster who had tried to annihilate them.

His councilors, it seemed, did not agree.

Astalor—whose eyes had now turned as dark as Rommath's—insisted that the Sunwell should take precedence over all else. "We can't afford revenge."

"So you would let Arthas go unpunished?" Kael asked, finally feeling a return of the rage he had experienced at Runestone Belore'endal. Flames began to ripple over hiss hands, charring the table, and although he dimly heard Rommath and Astalor shouting, it was a memory of the sublime music he had heard in his dream, of the ghostly figure saying _You must persevere_, that enabled him to calm himself enough for the flames to fade.

"Of course not," Rommath said quietly. "You have asked for my counsel, and so I must urge you to consider that now is not the time to hunt him down. Not when our people continue to be poisoned by the foul energies he left behind. Not when the few magisters and rangers we have left struggle to fend off the encroaching Amani."

Kael knew that Rommath was right. He wished it were not so, but he knew that it would be a mistake to deplete Silvermoon's remaining defenders by taking them to pursue Arthas.

"Once we have remedied the Sunwell," Rommath continued, "provided for our people, and re-secured our borders, we will pay Arthas back tenfold for the suffering he has caused, even if we must harry him from the highest peaks to the depths of the sea."

"He'll think he has broken us," Astalor added, "that we are too frightened and feeble to retaliate. He'll become complacent and careless—and then we will strike."

"Thank you," Kael said, "both of you, for helping me see our path clearly."

.

And so, once again, Kael destroyed what he could not save. He, Astalor, and Rommath recovered the broken crystals that had once sustained Ban'dinoriel, Quel'Thalas' magical shield, and devised a ritual that would allow them to rechannel the last of the arcane energy from the crystals into the shadow-corrupted Sunwell, causing a magical overload and detonation. The resulting arcane tempest had scoured all undead from the holy island of Quel'Danas.

Within a few days Lor'themar assured him that the Farstriders were sufficient to protect what was left of Silvermoon—the few trolls who had witnessed the destruction from their offshore destroyers appeared to have crept fearfully back to Zul'Aman—and Kael contacted Earthmender Gavran, who advised Pathaleon on negotiating a contract that would allow Silvermoon to buy food directly from Ironforge. Slowly, the survivors worked to make the eastern half of the city habitable again.

"Now," Kael asked Rommath and Astalor in the upper room at the inn which served as his command center, "_now_ are we ready to devise a plan for going after Arthas?"

"Just one thing more," Rommath said, and looked at Astalor. "It's time, I think."

Astalor nodded, and left the room; when he returned he carried a long narrow box. Setting the box carefully on the table, he stepped back.

Kael opened it.

Felo'melorn, the ancient runeblade that his father had wielded until Frostmourne had cleaved it in two, just before Arthas struck him down. Kael had assumed that the pieces had been buried with his father.

"One day you will mend our people, as you will mend this blade," Rommath said with absolute conviction.

"Yes," Kael said. "Whatever it takes, we will persevere."

.

.

_Next chapter: Alliances_

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A big thank you to my beta **Bryn**, who caught several errors of canon, tidied my commas, tamed wild tenses, and in general guided me away from doing stupid things. Special thanks also to **Raskol** and **shinyforce**, who reviewed over on Ao3 and thus kept the embers going.

The events of this chapter are meant to mesh, as much as possible, with the timelines and events made canonical by Mickey Neilson's novella _Blood of the Highborne_.

TThis chapter is dedicated to Anne and Matthew; Even though I printed most of your column off to PDF, I was happy to see that you found a new home.

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posted 19 February 2015; rev 24 May 15


	10. The Halls of Theory (Vexallus) 5

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: Hoping that the Alliance of Lordaeron will feel obligated to assist in bringing Arthas to justice, Kael subjects himself and his troops to the bigotry of Grand Marshal Garithos. _

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 10: The Halls (Vexallus), Part V<br>**

_by silverr_

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~ : |10| : ~

_Un… leash…_

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Ah, so now you've discovered the secret: oftentimes one must accept pain and hardship for a greater gain.

So many of our arcanists died learning how to harvest the volatile essences from beings such as Vexallus, but their deaths—unlike so many deaths in Quel'Thalas—were not wasted; such essences power our Arcane Guardians. I'm sure you've met a few on your way in.

Impressive, weren't they? Invented by my dear friend Astalor.

Oh yes, even after all he's recently done to undermine me, I still call him friend. How could I not? First he changed his name to show his commitment to our cause; then he freely spilled his own blood to aid us. Not only that, he endured the pain of proximity to me because he believed that it would help his beloved Rommath. Admirable, if pointless; but then Astalor has always seen the world through the lens of blood magic, in which one voluntarily exchanges pain for power.

That was the lesson he taught me, you see, and that is why I still call him friend: our destiny is shaped, not by the paths forced upon us, but by the paths we choose to take.

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Misery and powerlessness. Kael'thas had thought he understood what those words meant, but in the days following the destruction of Silvermoon he came to realize that he had never truly comprehended the oppressive reality of them.

His first lesson was the hostility of the Silvermoon citizenry. Kael had seen their love for his father and his brother, and was entirely taken aback that that love did not extend to him as well. Shock gave way to a dull pain as Rommath explained that not only was Kael being condemned for his absence during the battle and the days following, but he was also seen primarily as a magister—and most citizens felt that the magisters had failed them. Even Rommath's judicious leaking of the truth about Ban'dinoriel—that the magical shield that had protected Silvermoon and the Isle of Quel'Danas had failed only when those who could have raised and maintained it were slaughtered by the traitor Dar'Khan—apparently had little effect on the anti-mage sentiment.

"It seems death isn't considered a sufficient impediment to performing one's duty," Rommath told him.

"It's ridiculous!" fumed Astalor, upon hearing that the Farstriders were being hailed as the saviors of Silvermoon. "Were the mages and spellbreakers who battled alongside them invisible? They'd stop swooning soon enough if the rangers were actually in charge!"

To Kael's surprise, Rommath nodded and said, "Elevating a Farstrider—perhaps Lor'themar Theron?—to a position of visible authority could be quite beneficial. By acknowledging the role the Farstriders played, you will garner immediate good-will; it'll be seen as a gracious gesture. And then," Rommath had continued calmly—with a ruthless practicality he had rarely displayed before—"when the people become dissatisfied with Lor'themar, you will be doubly heralded when you remove him from office." The surprises didn't end there: when Lor'themar was offered the Regency, he warily agreed to accept it on one condition: that Rommath step up as Grand Magister and unofficially govern as co-regent. "Without a strong mage presence here in Silvermoon," he'd said, "the people will continue to feel abandoned." At that moment Kael realized that, rustic or not, Lor'themar was no fool: his subtle rebuke demonstrated that he grasped the situation every bit as well as they did. Whether his motives were sincere or self-serving didn't matter: in either case, keeping Rommath, Kael's most trusted advisor, in Silvermoon would not only reaffirm the equality of the Farstriders and the Magisterium, but would be seen as proof of Kael's connection to Quel'Thalas and his commitment to her recovery.

Such proof was crucial, for Kael was certain that the best way to redeem himself and the magisters in the eyes of the people was to track down and punish Arthas for his crimes.

Unfortunately, there was no information about where the villain and his army had fled. Astalor and several others believed that the erstwhile prince had been given shelter by former or current allies; Rommath believed that he was returning to Northrend, the site of his unfathomable transformation from human to monster. Either way, it was obvious that, even if they had known exactly where Arthas was, with all but the most seriously injured sin'dorei actively engaged in reclaiming and defending Silvermoon, there were not sufficient elven forces to mount a successful attack. Kael needed to bolster his campaign against Arthas with non-elven troops, but the only way to do that was to maintain and exploit Quel'Thalas' ties to the Alliance of Lordaeron—which meant taking himself and as many troops as could be spared and offering them to Grand Marshal Garithos. Being subject to Garithos again was not something Kael was eager to do, but the humans were the strongest of Kael's potential allies. Diplomatic relations with the dwarves of Ironforge were too new for Silvermoon to have any leverage, and the gnomes, while clever inventors, weren't known for their army.

Garithos had moved his command base from Dalaran to Silverpine, and Silverpine provided Kael with additional lessons in misery and powerlessness. A dreary, dangerous place, Silverpine was crowded with menacing stands of trees and numerous small caves that looked as though they would provide far too many hiding places for the undead. Days were gray with rain and clammy mists; night brought insidious winds that stabbed and sliced at exposed skin, and the sun, which had first abandoned them the day Arthas had poisoned the Sunwell, now appeared only briefly, flashing on the horizon twice a day like an estranged friend hurrying past.

The inhospitable weather and terrain, however, would turn out to be trivial compared to the 'welcome' Kael and his troops received when they reported to the Alliance command post. Prior to Arthas' destruction of Silvermoon, Kael and his forces, operating out of Dalaran, had more or less been treated as welcome, given the provisions and supplies they needed, and allowed some leeway on where they fought and when; now, however, Garithos' officers treated Kael like a pariah, told him he was to set up his own camp, acquire his own supplies and food, and deploy his troops in strict accordance with their daily assignment. Kael, keeping in mind that his people now needed the humans more than the humans needed them—an ironic reversal from pre-war conditions—and understanding somewhat that the Alliance's resources were stretched thin after such a protracted war with the Scourge, suppressed his anger at this rough treatment. He reminded himself that whatever he endured now would enable him to destroy Arthas later.

Leaving the command post, he'd gone in search of the blacksmith. When he finally located the smithy—a large roofed structure built into the side of a hill—he saw two apprentices working under the stern eye of an imposingly-muscled gray-bearded dwarf.

"Skorgrim the Red, at yer service," the dwarf said as Kael approached. He glanced at the three small spheres of swirling green fire that hovered over Kael's head, but was clearly more curious about the long bundle of faded Thalassian brocade that Kael carried.

"I have a broken sword. Do you have a moment to discuss its repair?"

"Only just, I've got some ingots in." Skorgrim pointed to a space on a workbench. "Put 'er down there."

Kael unwrapped the bundle, revealing the sundered pieces of Felo'melorn.

"Oh now, will ya look at that," the dwarf said reverently. He leaned in for a closer look. "What a _beauty._ Bin smithin' for sixty years, an' never seen the like." He frowned slightly as he carefully lifted the hilt-half of the sword to peer at the break. "This is no stress fracture, it's a clean rive. What in seven blazes did _that?"_

"Can it be repaired?" Kael said, trying not to picture Frostmourne slicing through Felo'melorn just before it sliced into his father.

The dwarf sighed and shook his head. "Truthfully? Some idiots might tell you they can solder it, but that's a pile. The join'd be a weak point, like bone that's been broken; it'd likely snap in the same spot as soon as you clanged it fighting."

"What about forge-welding it?" Kael asked.

The dwarf looked surprised. "So ye know a bit about smithing?"

"A bit," Kael said. "I've done minor repairs on enchanted weapons—edging, replacing grips, replating."

The dwarf was less impressed now. "Eh, all that's more like jewelsmithing." He folded his arms. "It's true, a forge weld is much much stronger, but it's for plain slabs o' untempered metal that can take the upset and the scarfin' and the repeated heatin'. Do any a' that to a blade like this and you'll ruin it for sure."

"There's no other option?"

"Well, with some old swords, family heirlooms and such, I'd say to make a cast, then melt 'er down and reforge from scratch, but I wouldn't do that here—not only because your sword looks to be two or three different metals layered together, but because you'd lose all the elvenscript. Unless that's something you kin put back?"

"No," Kael said. What had been inscribed on the sword had been a lie: _Whosoever wields the fire / shall never fall._

"Shame that is. It's a lost art." The dwarf sighed. "Sadly, there's just no reliable way to make a sword like this battle-worthy again."

"I don't need it battle-worthy," Kael said. "I only want it to be—" There was a sudden lump of grief in his throat; he swallowed it down. "I just want it to be whole again."

"Well... if that's all you want, might as well try soldering. A mix of truesteel and truesilver might do the trick. If it doesn't take, you'll have to go with a forge weld and try to get it done in a single heat, as hot as you kin make it without meltin'. And minimal hammerin'." The dwarf twisted a hank of his beard and said thoughtfully, "Might be able to protect the script with a clay and flux paste…"

"I trust your judgement," Kael said. "Whatever you think will work best."

"Oh, you were wanting me to do the work?" The dwarf held up his hands and shook his head. "No, no, I can't."

"This sword is Felo'melorn," Kael said, unable to comprehend the dwarf's refusal. "It belonged to my father Anasterian, last High King of Quel'Thalas, who was murdered by Arthas Menethil and his undead army. The cloth I had wrapped around the sword is a remnant of the brocade used to make my mother's funeral shroud." He clenched his teeth; when he was able to go on, he said, "It's all I have left of them. Name your price: I'll empty Silvermoon's treasury."

The dwarf looked appalled. "I heard stories about King Anasterian from my great-gran," he said apologetically. "I'd like to help you, yer highness, really I would, but all requests for my services have to be approved by the High Commander."

"General Garithos, you mean."

"That's right. Grand Marshal Garithos or one a' his seconds."

Kael knew that such approval was unlikely. "If Garithos can't—" he almost said 'won't'— "spare you to do the work, would you allow me to make use of your forge and tools? Only when they're idle, of course; I'm afraid my camp isn't as yet provisioned."

"Oh, absolutely," the dwarf said. "It'd be an honor to work on such a blade. You kin tell 'em I said so; might carry some weight."

"I'm not sure I understand you," Kael said carefully. "Do you mean that although I have brought forces to fight under the Alliance banner, and I and my people will likely die defending human lands, I must get the permission of the Grand Marshal to work in an Alliance smithy?"

Skorgrim sighed and wouldn't meet Kael's eyes. "Afraid so."

"I see." Kael re-wrapped the sword. "Any advice on what I might do to earn Garithos' favor?" He knew he sounded bitter; he didn't care.

"Aside from bein' a human instead of an elf?" Skorgrim said with a pained half-grin. "He blames elves for the death of his father and the family vassals in the last war, yeh see, even though everyone knows it was orcs that attacked Blackwood. He probably think that if he had been there instead of off fighting on the Quel'Thalas border he'd've come off the hero, single-handedly defeatin' the invaders and savin' his town, which is nonsense, but people believe what they want to believe. Not the type to question himself, he isn't." Skorgrim pursed his lips, as if regretting he'd been so frank. "So he's got that against yer kind, for a start. Not much ye kin do about it."

"True."

"He's not too fond of magic-users, either. Might want to hide those bits of green sparkle keepin' ye company."

Kael reached inside the collar of his robe and pulled out the small bag holding the gem created by his phoenix -avatar. As he put the crystal from the core of each verdant sphere into the bag, he tried not to think about how demeaning it was for him to go so far to make himself acceptable to Garithos—but then again, what choice did he have? The humans held the power in this situation: to pretend otherwise was foolish. "I appreciate the advice," he told Skorgrim.

"Good luck!" the dwarf said with forced cheer.

Kael trudged back to the command tent, but when he asked the helmeted guard at the entrance if he could speak to Garithos, he was told that the Grand Marshal was currently too busy to see him. When Kael said that he'd wait, he was informed he'd have to put his name on the list of petitioners.

Kael swallowed his anger at this new insult and asked for the list. The guards, apparently unprepared for this response, hastily produced a piece of blank parchment. Kael signed his name using Common script rather than Thalassian; he was then kept waiting outside the tent long enough for a small crowd to gather. As humiliating as this treatment was, Kael was determined to keep his goal in mind. When he was at last motioned inside, he had to suppress a laugh. Behind the command table—which was on a high dais—Garithos sat in an enormous, throne-like chair of dark wood. The Grand Marshal had exchanged the utilitarian armor he'd worn in the past for a gleaming, highly ornamented golden set. _One more reason for him to resent me_, Kael thought. _True royalty is a matter of bloodline and deportment, not furniture and costume._

"My apologies for importuning you, Grand Marshal," Kael said as deferentially as he was able once Garithos acknowledged his presence by making eye contact, "but I have come to ask if you would allow me to use the camp smithy for an hour or so to repair—my sword." It seemed prudent not to mention dead fathers. "I have spoken to Mastersmith Skorgrim, and he is agreeable; all that is required is your permission."

Garithos stared at Kael for long moments, his mouth twisted into a faint smirk, then began to lazily pick between his teeth with a fingernail. "No, I don't want any weird metals around our honest iron and steel," he said. "Who knows what effect it would have on them?"

Kael had anticipated this refusal; the hour he had just spent standing in the Silverpine rain had given him time to come up with a counter-proposal. "Might we attempt to salvage the blacksmith shop in Dalaran, then?" Kael asked. "The forge and anvil there likely are still serviceable, and as its a considerable distance from here, you needn't worry about any adverse—"

"No," Garithos said, flicking away whatever piece of food he had retrieved. "I can't spare anyone."

"My apologies for not being clear," Kael said, trying to remain patient. "Your soldiers need not trouble themselves with such a laborious and menial task; my people will do the work of clearing the rubble."

"The ruins are crawling with undead," said stern-looking man standing to Garithos' right. "It's far too dangerous."

"We are more than willing to undertake the task of putting the former citizens of the city to rest," Kael said, then added, "It will allow us to make a useful contribution to your reconstruction effort on those days when we are not needed elsewhere."

"I had a feeling you'd find some excuse for rummaging around in Dalaran," Garithos said. "You think I'm going to let you traipse around unsupervised and destroy evidence?" He chuckled. "I don't think so."

"Evidence?" Kael asked. "Evidence of what?"

"I've always found it awfully suspicious," Garithos said, "that you and all 'your people' left before it was destroyed." He turned to address the stern-looking man. "What was it that flattened the city, Sergeant Winters?"

"Magic, sir," Winters said dutifully.

"Odd, isn't it, that so many non-human mages left right before the disaster?" Garithos said, as if pondering. "And wasn't there some artifact after the Second War that concentrated magic?"

"The Eye of Dalaran," Winters supplied. "Allegedly stolen right after the city was rebuilt."

Rage began to unfurl as Kael realized what Garithos was insinuating. "Dalaran was my home for hundreds of years," Kael said tightly. "I and 'my people' would have defended it with our lives—_have_ defended, it, as we have defended Lordaeron—but the day it was destroyed, we were battling through the undead on our way to Silvermoon, where we had to burn the corpses of tens of thousands of our citizens slain by Arthas and his army. No doubt in retaliation for the help we've given the Alliance." Kael regretted this last the instant he said it.

The faintest of smiles twitched Garithos' lips, as if he was pleased that he had caused Kael to speak of something so painful. "It's always been a _human _city," he said, "so what's left of it is therefore off-limits to non-humans." He then picked up a piece of paper and pretended to read it, signalling that the audience was over. "Of course, if you don't like our rules, you're free to go back to Quel'Thalas."

Not trusting himself to speak further without doing irreparable harm, Kael brushed past Garithos' soldiers and out of the tent, where he ran into Skorgrim, the gray-bearded dwarf blacksmith. "I asked," Kael said tightly. "He said no."

"I heard," the dwarf muttered. "Come wi' me."

"Why?" Kael had had his fill of bowing and scraping to non-elves for the day; there was no civility left in him.

Skorgrim walked away without answering; curious, Kael followed.

After a meandering route, Skorgrim stopped at last next to a tarp-covered wagon on the outskirts of the encampment, not far from his smithy. "Quite a few abandoned farmsteads down south," he said abruptly. "Some might have anvils and forges."

_Anvils and forges._ "Driven out of their homes by the undead?"

"Some ran from the plague," Skorgrim said. "Folks at Ambermill and Pyrewood were too stubborn, dug in instead. Been holding on as best they can, but might appreciate some help, even if it comes from _non-humans._" Skorgrim's contempt for the term—which by definition included dwarves—was clear.

"How fortuitous," Kael said. "I was just thinking that it might be useful to establish a base camp in that area."

"Not that anyone's orderin' ye to, of course," Skorgrim said.

"Of course," Kael said. "Only the Grand Marshal can give me orders."

Skorgrim's lips twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. "I thought as much. Good thing we ran into each other; since yer leavin' I have an excuse to show off me supply wagon." He lifted up the canvas. "I'd like ta' direct yer attention to the sealed bucket o' blackrock flux and the two boxes o' charcoal in the corner."

"Yes, I can see them," Kael said. "Very high quality materials, are they?"

"Damn right they are. Quality blackchar, not that garbage that's half ash and dirt." Skorgrim nodded emphatically, then murmured as if saying nothing of consequence, "Most o' the camp sits down for afternoon mess in a bit. No one comes down this way for a good quarter-hour."

"Is that so?" Kael replied just as quietly. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but you risk being reprimanded."

Skorgrim gave a snort that was surprisingly eloquent. "I'll tell you something, Prince Kael'thas; I've done some thinking since you made yer request this morning, and when I heard what was happenin' during yer meeting I decided that, from where I'm pissin', if I've paid for a bucket of flux with _my _money I can do with it as I please. If I want to toss it in the river, or rub it on me belly, or even _give _it to someone, well, that's _my _choice and no one else's. Anyone gets a stick up their arse about that an' tries to reprimand me'll be hikin' down to Ironforge for their repairs."

Kael nodded, his faith in non-elves somewhat restored. He started to pull his gold-pouch from his pocket, but Skorgrim said sternly, "Put that away. Fix Anasterian's sword. That'll be payment enough." As he made an unnecessary adjustment to the tarp covering his wagon, he added, "If ye really have an itch to throw money at someone, my cousins in the Explorers' Guild can supply tents. They'll be used, and likely they'll need mending, but they'll be cheap."

And so, as it turned out, not everything about existence in Silverpine was entirely unpleasant.

As Kael and his forces made their way along the road that ran south through Silverpine, trying to find a place to make their camp before nightfall, they discovered that Skorgrim had spoken truly: there were indeed many abandoned houses and farms in the area west and southwest of Lordamere Lake, although most were too small, too dilapidated, or too exposed to be suitable. Fortunately, Theraldis finally located one that seemed ideal. West of the main road, almost directly southwest of Dalaran and roughly midway between Ambermill and Pyrewood, the farm had a large fallow field not far from the road. Both the two-story house to the north of the field and the barn and outbuildings to the west were nestled in rocky hills that provided excellent vantage for sentries, while a stand of massive trees served as a windbreak against the clammy breeze coming from the sea. Behind the thickets of overgrown weeds, the buildings, though weathered, appeared to be well-constructed. The mossy tiles of each roof were tight, and the fireplaces were well-bricked.

Although the house had almost enough floor space to accommodate all of them for sleeping, the general feeling was that they should clear the field and pitch tents outside in order to use the ground floor of the house as an infirmary and refectory. While some set upon the field with scythe and fireball, others cleaned wasp nests from the chimneys. Malande, who had ventured upstairs, said that both bedrooms were habitable and had asked Kael to choose which he'd like so that the bedding could be aired out. Kael, thinking of the Grand Marshal and his throne, responded that the beds should be reserved for the ill. "I'll sleep in a tent, like everyone else."

It had been an exhausting first day, but Kael, contemplating the sight just after sunset as the campfire defied the dusk-shrouded woods and burnished the drab canvas of the tents, felt exceptionally moved at what they had accomplished: not only was the camp a tangible first step in the recovery of the sin'dorei, it was also a symbolic refutation of Garithos' scorn.

Someone touched him on the shoulder. Kael looked up to see an unfamiliar elder elf and his assistant, the latter carrying a large bulky bundle of fabric tied with cord.

"Prince Kael'thas," the elder began, "I am Tae'thelan Bloodwatcher, magister-historian. I have a come to beg both forgiveness and permission."

"Why do you need forgiveness?"

"Earlier today, I led a team into the western half of the city, thinking to recover items of significant cultural value before the undead could despoil them," he said. "When I found these," he indicated the bundle, "in the ruins of the royal vault, I was seized with inspiration, and conscripted Belloc to help me bring them to you so that I might beg your forgiveness for taking them without your permission."

"And they are…?"

"Ancestor's Day lawn tapestries," Belloc said.

_Ancestor's Day._

"I thought they might be put to good use here," Tae'thelan said. "A touch of home, as it were. Might I give a small speech and distribute them to our troops?"

Kael looked at Lana'thel, who gave an evasive shrug. "If you wish."

As Tae'thelan and Belloc moved to the center of the camp, Lana'thel folded her arms and chuckled. "Tae'thelan has either impeccable timing or luck, arriving just after we finished the work of setting up the camp."

"Possibly both," Kael replied as Tae'thelan clapped his hands for attention.

"My brothers and sisters," Tae'thelan said, "like these bedraggled tents that are in such dire need of repair—"

"Shall we find him a needle?" Lana'thel muttered.

"—the outside world may see us as battered and defeated. But like this very camp, these tents can become a tangible reminder of how, nourished by our history and traditions, we will regain the strength we need to reclaim our former glory!" He motioned to Belloc to untie the bundle.

There was a murmuring as the elves realized that the tapestries were the very ones that had once been spread on the lawns of Sunstrider Isle. As they gathered around to examine them, Keleseth, ever the wag, commented that the heavy brocade would also do an admirable job of keeping out the chill air of the Silverpine nights.

As Kael watched his people eagerly selecting tapestries for their tents—"It's not just cloth," Tae'thelan was saying, "it's a piece of our _heritage!"_—he decided that there was no need to chastise Bloodwatcher for scavenging in the royal vaults. His intentions had been pure, even if his actions were questionable. And after all, perhaps he was right; perhaps the tapestries would help their people, the brave, beautiful survivors, to rise above their grief, guilt, and despair, even if just for a moment, and to forget that for each of the living there were nine dead.

.

The next day's dawn seemed to be a harbinger of a brighter future: no clouds smothered the rising sun, and the early morning ground fog dissipated quickly in a golden glow. Kael and his people gathered in the center of the camp to discuss what they would do that day. Lana'thel and Tenris were headed north to check mission assignments at Garithos' command post. Freywinn asked for volunteers to help him assess the degree of contamination in the area's plants, animals, and water; Pathaleon said he would be inventorying the supplies on hand and making lists of what was needed—Eldin had been right, there really were people who genuinely enjoyed managing logistical details—and Andorath said he would lead a squad out to do general reconnaissance of the area.

By the time Kael had spoken to each of the departing squads, he noticed that Selin and Atherann were building a lean-to—with materials they had salvaged from the farm's decrepit granary—to shelter his clandestine smithy from the rain and clammy sea breezes. Touched by this gesture, Kael decided that he would use the time until Lana'thel returned with their orders from Garithos to begin repairs on Felo'melorn.

After tying his hair back, Kael set out tongs, hammer, and a pair of heavy leather gloves. Exchanging his robe for a blacksmithing apron, he scooped a bucket of rain water from the leaf-strewn horse trough and set it near the forge for quenching and fire control. Nodding with satisfaction—the forge, recovered from the charred remains of an abandoned farm further east, was badly rusted in one corner but otherwise serviceable—Kael pried open one of the boxes that they had taken from Skorgrim; atop the charcoal was a folded paper containing a dozen or so small dark blue pellets. _Toss one on the fire,_ the paper said. _Spits when coals are ready. Sparks when metal is ready._

Smiling faintly at the dwarf's thoughtfulness, Kael began to load the forge with charcoal. Ironic that not long ago he would have, without effort, produced a magical fire at least as hot as what was now going to take him nearly an hour of careful work to create in the forge. Not that he _couldn't _conjure fire if he wanted to: no, he was choosing _not _to. It was his way of taking back control of the condition that Arthas had forced upon him.

The moment the Sunwell had been defiled, even the smallest spell had taken an unusual amount of concentration, and more powerful magics were occasionally literally painful, as if his blood were filled with acid-tipped shards of glass. The ritual he had performed with Rommath and Astalor to destroy the corrupted Sunwell—using the three mooncrystals that had once sustained Ban'dinoriel—had been agonizing, and had left him feeling ill for several days.

Kael had assumed at first that all mages were suffering as he was; once he realized that most were not, he was careful to conceal his condition. He was certain that everyone was suffering to some degree: if it was true that he was affected more than most, well, that was the privilege and burden he _should _bear as the leader of his people. In addition to giving him a poignant moment of empathy for his late brother—Kael certainly didn't want fussy old uncles hovering over him either—it underscored how very much he had taken effortless magic for granted.

At first Kael had planned to restrict his magic use simply because he wished to avoid discomfort and fatigue, but holding the mooncrystals after the ritual, sensing that they retained faint traces of magical energy even though they had nearly been destroyed, had given him the desire to somehow restore them enough that they could protect Quel'Thalas once again. Suspending each crystal in an orb of fire—which sadly took on a green hue due to the corruption still tainting them—at the end of every day, Kael forced himself to wring what power he could from himself and channel it into the crystals. As the crystals began to store more and more power, Kael realized that the energy they held was a reserve he could draw upon when he located Arthas. He had a sudden image of Arthas being consumed by a pillar of arcane fire, and from that moment, he stopped using magic for trivial purposes. If he wanted to travel, he rode; when he was hungry or thirsty, he either sought out non-conjured food or did without; when he fought, he used sword and staff instead of fireball whenever feasible…

... and when he needed to heat metal to malleability, he lit a pile of charcoal with kindling and worked the bellows to provide a steady flow of air into the heart of the nascent fire.

Curious how something so simple, so crude, could be so satisfying.

Within minutes, his skin was prickling from the heat; by the quarter-hour mark, the muscles in his arms and legs had begun to ache from the unfamiliar effort of powering a bellows. None of this mattered; he was fulfilling the silent vow he had made at Anasterian's funeral pyre: to hunt down and punish Arthas Menethil for his crimes, and to repair both the runeblade Felo'melorn and their people. When the blue pellet that Skorgrim had given him began to crackle and hiss, Kael embedded the broken ends of the sword deep in the yellow-orange coals, expecting at any moment to see the bright blue sparks that would indicate that the metal was hot enough to be malleable.

As the hours went by, Kael continued to work the bellows, stopping only to add more charcoal to the edges of the forge, but no blue sparks appeared. Thinking perhaps the pellet was defective, Kael pulled one of the halves of the sword from the coals. The metal, far from being the bright red-orange he expected, had barely changed color at all.

As he worked the broken ends of the sword back into the coals, he saw that Lana'thel had returned. The early afternoon light glinted off the sword she held loosely at her side: Quel'Delar, which had once belonged to her friend Thalorien. Kael had heard that she had carved through a dozen undead to reach where his body lay trampled into the mud and ash of the southern shore of Quel'Danas, and that she had defended his corpse until she had collapsed, senseless with grief and exhaustion. She had had rarely been seen without the sword since. Kael knew she must blame him when she looked at Quel'Delar and saw a reminder of who and what had been lost. _If only I had made different choices,_ Kael's nightly self-censure ran, _if only I interpreted the signs correctly, I could have saved them all._ If he had gone to Silvermoon's aid immediately, he might have stopped Dar'Khan and saved the Convocation and Ban'dinoriel. If he had fought alongside his father, Anasterian would not have fallen, and neither would the Sunwell… Kael was aware that such thoughts accomplished nothing beyond refreshing his guilt, but he couldn't stop himself any more than Lana'thel could put Quel'Delar aside.

She had noticed him working, and was headed toward him. There was a time, Kael reflected, when he wouldn't have allowed anyone but Eldin to see him this way, sweating and grimy and half-undressed, but such considerations no longer mattered. It bothered him more that she was going to witness his inability to repair Felo'melorn, but then again she had already witnessed a number of his failures.

"How is it going?" she asked. She was eyeing him with a mix of amusement and admiration.

"Not as well as I'd hoped," he said. "I haven't been able to bring the metal to the proper temperature for repair."

"Is there any way to make the coals burn hotter?" Lana'thel asked.

"Short of filling the forge with lava? No." He worked the bellows with one hand while he tossed in the last of the charcoal. "I've accomplished nothing but to burn up two boxes of very good fuel."

"Could I try that?" she asked, indicating the bellows. "It looks like fun."

"If you wish," Kael said as he stepped aside. "It's less enjoyable after the first hour."

"There have to be books on runeblade repair somewhere," Lana'thel said, at first working the bellows so vigorously that a cascade of sparks leapt up.

Kael used an iron poker to redistribute the coals. "There might have been some in Dalaran's libraries; many of the works there were one of a kind."

"All lost now," she said sadly.

"So it seems."

"Is it true that Garithos accused us of destroying the city?" she asked, now moving the bellows more gently.

"He did. He also insinuated that Felo'melorn would somehow pollute any weapons present in the Alliance smithy."

"How did you keep from incinerating him?"

"I kept in mind that attacking him would not help our cause."

"True," Lana'thel said. "Still… if you _could _have given him the response he deserved, what would you have said?"

Kael pulled the two halves of the sword from the coals and stared at them as if considering his answer, but in truth he'd already spent more time than he wanted to admit to imagining what he would have liked to have said to the Grand Marshal. "This 'weird elf metal' is the runeblade Felo'melorn, I would have told him. Forged a hundred human lifetimes ago, it was wielded by my father, and his father before him, and by every High Elf king since Dath'remar himself. Felo'melorn has slain countless thousands of demons, trolls, orcs, and undead: if your honest steel and iron could talk, it would bow and tremble before this regal blade…" Kael set the pieces of the broken sword carefully on the anvil.

"I'd give anything to hear you say that to him," she said fervently, stepping back from the bellows at last. "I think we all would."

Kael felt somewhat embarrassed, as the speech had sounded far nobler in this thoughts than when spoken aloud. Still, if Lana'thel liked it… "You were gone longer than I expected you'd be," he said through the clouds of steam as he began to douse water on the coals. "Did Garithos keep you waiting?"

"Of course, and all for nothing. We aren't even on the duty roster yet."

"I'm sorry that they wasted your time." He set the water bucket down and, feeling slightly improper, took off his blacksmith apron.

"What is that around your neck?" Lana'thel asked. "You've never struck me as the amulet type."

Kael touched the small leather bag that had been hidden under the bib of the apron. "The gem," he said. "From… when I transformed." He hung the apron on a nail. "I'll make a proper setting for it when I have time."

"Wouldn't it be better to put it away somewhere for safekeeping?"

"No," he said. "I'd rather keep it near me, as a reminder." He pulled on his robe. "Freywinn says the area is being called 'The Scorched Grove' now. Treants and angry spirits attack anyone who comes near."

"But you didn't mean to destroy the forest," she said. "Did you?"

"No, but my intentions don't matter," he said. "Only my actions and their consequences."

She moved around the forge and stood close to him. "Be careful with this," she said, putting her hand on his chest, over the now-hidden amulet. "I wouldn't want it to be lost. The way… hers was."

"I'll be careful," he said. He knew she was referring to Sylvanas' necklace, which had been found on the road that led from Fairbreeze to Silvermoon. Kael was aware that most of his people had chosen to believe that Sylvanas had lost it days before the invasion. It was a willful delusion he understood, for it was too painful to imagine the chain breaking and the necklace falling to the ground at the moment that Arthas struck Sylvanas down and ripped out her soul.

"Was the Spire still unoccupied?" he asked Lana'thel. Although she had not talked about it, he had suspected that Lana'thel and Sarannis had returned the necklace to Windrunner Spire before they left Quel'Thalas.

"A few of Kel'Thuzad's cultists were skulking," she said. She rested her hand on Quel'Delar's hilt. "We hid it on the top floor near one of the sleeping alcoves."

"Perhaps some day her spirit will return to the Spire and find peace," Kael said softly.

"I hope for that as well," Lana'thel said. "To wander the world in such a form, trapped between death and life… what a horrible fate."

She looked away from him, and he saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. He was so taken aback by the depth of her emotion that he could think of no words to comfort her, and so he stood there silently until she spared him further discomfiture by walking out toward where Selin, Tenris, Astalor, and a half-dozen others sat on benches near the central campfire's cookpot.

"Where are we fighting tomorrow?" Sandoval asked her.

Lana'thel made a soft irritated sound as she ladled herself a bowl of stew and took a piece of stale dwarven ale-bread. "They said they had nothing for us to do, which is absurd," she said. "I know they've had casualties; clearly we could supplement their forces." She sat beside Kael and ate for a few moments before asking him, "As we don't yet have an official mission to kill undead, should we continue to kill them unofficially?"

"Of course," he said. "It is what needs to be done."

"Will you be my battle-partner?" she asked, leaning against his shoulder in a most enjoyable fashion.

"I look forward to slaughtering with you," he replied, taking her gesture to mean that she had already forgiven him. The thought made him almost happy for the first time in months, and he wished he could talk to Eldin about her.

"How are we going to prove our worth to the Alliance if they never send us on any missions?" Selin asked angrily.

"We can't force them to use us," Andorath said. "Unfortunately, we'll have to wait until they realize they need us."

"I certainly hope that happens before they're desperate. Or we are."

Tenris said, "Lieutenant Yift told Lana to come back after sunset, saying that he was sure 'something would open up' by then."

"Open up?" Keleseth asked. "Surely he didn't mean—?"

"He meant his breeches," Lana'thel said, poking listlessly at her stew before setting it aside. "Apparently some of Garithos' men find elves less objectionable if they have breasts."

Kael was outraged. "That's—how _dare _he say such a thing?" He stood and began to pace. "Allies or not, we must make it clear that we will not tolerate such an appalling behavior, even if it means we sit in our tents for twenty years!"

"I'll take Lana'thel's place in checking the postings with you from now on," Selin said to Tenris.

"No need," Tenris told him. "Yift and the others are barking dogs. They know quite well they would taste Quel'Delar if they ever tried to bite." He grinned at Lana'thel. "I almost wish they'd try: it would be a joy to watch you swat them down."

Late afternoon began to shade into sunset. Andorath returned to camp and said that their search of the caves in the area had yielded no signs of undead; Freywinn reported that he had found several diseased animals—both predator and prey species—but that the area's vegetation still seemed resistant. Sandoval, who had led a squad south, described scouting a fortified village whose inhabitants had shot at them, and beyond it a towering wall.

Fatigued by the day's blacksmithing efforts, Kael was considering turning in early when a group of a two dozen or so humans emerged from the woods to the east of the farm, then began to hurry across the road toward the camp.

As Kael and the others rose from their seats around the campfire, a bearded man—who along with a red-haired woman seemed to be leading the group of humans—spoke. "Thank the Light! We heard that there was a company of Alliance soldiers in the area." He, like several others in his group, wore a ragged Kirin Tor initiate's tunic.

"You're from Dalaran?" Kael asked.

"Yes," the man said. "Most of us are—well, _were._ It was only by accident that we escaped the disaster; Amelia and I had taken a group to Ambermill to investigate some curious phenomena—"

"William," the woman said, "the matter at hand?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, Amelia!" He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "We've come to ask for your help. Our settlement at Ambermill has been invaded by undead!"

"They've always come singly before, which we can handle," Amelia said. In contrast to William, she was calm, with a firm, authoritative voice. "This time, however, there were six or seven of them—"

"No, at least a dozen," William interjected. "I'm not ashamed to admit that we panicked," he said.

"What's important is that you got everyone out safely," Atherann said.

"I didn't see the Tayuses," William said to Amelia.

"Barricaded in their house, most likely," Amelia grumbled. "Stubborn grumpy fools."

"We can get them out," Vanthryn offered, glancing at the sliver of sunset that remained.

"Thank you," William said with a sigh. "Amelia and I are up for fighting, but the rest are pretty rattled. Is there a corner where they could hunker down until we come back? The barn will do."

"There is no room in the barn," Andorath said. "Would the house be an adequate substitute?"

"Oh… of course." The human seemed quite nonplussed, as if he hadn't expected kindness from elves.

"Bill and I are going back for Krieg and Sonia Tayus," Amelia announced. "The rest of you get inside; it'll be safe here." As the crowd filed into the house Amelia said briskly, "I'd advise against torches and glow-lights; no reason to warn them we're coming."

As they hurried toward the darkening woods, Kael mused that, as unpleasant as it was fighting undead during the day, fighting them at dusk, when they'd be visible only as faint white smears in the darkness, promised to be five times as onerous. Fortunately, the nine undead at Ambermill were risen ghouls rather than the deadly abominations, spiders, and skeletal soldiers of Arthas' army; defeating them was quickly accomplished. Perhaps it was simply the urgency of their task, but Kael felt his magic flowing more easily than it had since the invasion.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Astalor said to him as he incinerated the ghoul remains. "There's something here, something powerful. Raw magical energy."

"An offshoot of the ley-lines that lead into Dalaran," Kael replied quietly. Not surprising, then, that the Dalaran survivors had settled here.

William had run to a cottage and begun to pound on the door. "Sonia! Krieg! It's William!" he shouted. "The undead are gone!"

The door opened a crack.

"We've gone to the Alliance base camp for the night," William said to the hidden couple. "In case the undead come back."

"If the danger's passed, we don't see any reason to leave our home to stay with strangers!" came the whispered reply.

"Strangers?" Amelia snapped back. "You'd be with all of us!"

The door shut; the sound of a heavy bolt followed.

"Suit yourself," she said angrily as William put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her away.

As they headed back to Kael's encampment, Andorath said, "I wonder where those undead came from? We didn't see any when we scouted the area."

"I think they came from Dalaran," a young man said. "Some say there are hundreds in the ruins there."

"Did so many perish?" Kael asked. It was a sorrowful thought, that once again he'd have to give a second death to so many he might have known in life. "If that is true, your settlement is likely to be overrun again." If Dalaran's fatalities had risen as undead, it suggested that Kel'Thuzad—and Arthas—had been responsible for that as well.

"If the undead come again, we'll cross the river and ask Pyrewood to take us in for a bit," Amelia said. "Baron Silverlaine is said to be a good man."

"I hope you're right," Lana'thel said. She was looking back over her shoulder, in the direction of Ambermill.

Kael turned to see that the forest behind them was filled with what looked like white mist; dozens of white blurs were following them.

"We couldn't have missed that many!" Sandoval protested.

"It must be a second wave of attackers," Vanthryn said.

"That family—" Lana'thel began.

"If that many shamblies went through Ambermill," Amelia said, scowling as she began to send arcane blasts at the undead, "they surely made enough noise that the Tayusess knew to keep their door locked.' Her words were heartless, but her expression was anguished. "I'm sure they're fine. It's a sturdy cottage with a sturdy door."

They reached the edge of the woods and began to hurry across the wide verge toward the road that separated them from the farm. "William," Kael asked, "could you and Amelia go ahead and help our base camp prepare for evacuation? We'll hold back the undead."

"Of course," William said. "We'll load only what is essential. Uncontaminated foodstuffs and water, ammunition... "

"Let's just go, Will!" Amelia said, pulling at his arm and starting to run. "They know we know what to do!"

Kael and the others spread themselves in a line along the road and waited. He thought he could hear—or perhaps it was only his imagination—faint shouts as the alarm was given at their camp.

"We haven't seen that before," Valanar said, pointing off to their left at a faint column of silvery light, barely visible on the road to the north.

Kael glanced at the woods. "We have other concerns," he said as the ghouls became visible between the trees. "We can investigate when we've dispatched these undead."

This second wave of undead seemed more aggressive than those they had encountered at Ambermill, oddly relentless in their march toward the base camp at the farm. More than once the elves were forced to retreat toward the road to avoid being surrounded, but at last they were victorious.

Kael and the others glanced northward toward the column of light as they hurried across the road. Was the column closer now, or was that simply a trick of the moonlight? No matter.

Kael was pleased to see that the farm's two wagons had been loaded with blankets, spare tents, and foodstuffs. Astalor—once again using blood magic—was casting protective wards on each. Most of the rest of the camp was busy taking down their tents and preparing to march along with the refugees.

"Your people gave us half your food," Amelia told Kael. "We can't take that much."

"You can't show up at Pyrewood empty-handed," Andorath said calmly. "Even if the Baron is as generous as you say, his resources may be strained after so many months of fighting the Scourge."

"But what will you—"

"We'll take enough from Ambermill to replace what we've given you," Atherann assured her.

As last minute supplies were being loaded onto the wagons, Freywinn said, "Is that… a sabercat mount_?"_

Kael turned to see what he was talking about.

The column of light had reached the northeastern perimeter of the farm, and had left the road to move across the field toward them. Two shapes moved within the light: one walking, the other riding a huge white and black striped tiger.

"_Kaldorei…" _Freywinn sounded entirely awestruck.

Tae'thalen scowled faintly. "Kaldorei? What would they be doing here?" Tae'thalen knew, as did Kael, that it was disagreement with the druidic kaldorei over the use of arcane magic after the Sundering that had caused Kael's ancestor Dath'remar and the Highborne survivors he led to be banished from their homeland more than seven thousand years ago. Ever since, the elves of Eastern Kingdom and the elves in Kalimdor had viewed each other with distrust and contempt; as the millennia passed, the kaldorei and quel'dorei had diverged in culture as well as appearance, and this, combined with the reclusiveness of kaldorei society, meant that few high elves had ever been face to face with their distant cousins from across the sea. Now and again Kael had received letters in Dalaran from night elves who claimed to be mages and who expressed interest in joining the Kirin Tor, but whenever he had responded to such letters the communication had gone ominously silent.

"We'll soon find out," Kael said.

As the rider came nearer, Kael saw that she was stunningly beautiful, with violet skin, long blue-green hair, and glittering, diaphanous robes. A silvery crescent diadem marked her as a priestess of the moon, but in all his reading about kaldorei religion Kal had never come across anything that would explain why the priestess seemed to be wrapped in a glowing mist that rose into the night like smoke. The priestess' companion, apparently also female, wore imposing armor and a heavy green cloak, and carried a lethal-looking circular weapon. A crested helm hid her hair and most of her face.

Formidable, both of them.

"_Ishnu-alah,_ night elves," Kael said, hoping that his Darnassian was properly accented. "I am Prince Kael'thas. I am surprised to see your kind here, for this land offers only death and shadow." He wondered, as soon as he had said this, if they would take his words as a veiled threat; he certainly hoped they would not.

"_Ishnu-dal-dieb,_ Kael'thas," the armored warrior replied politely. "I am Maiev Shadowsong, and this is Tyrande Whisperwind. We are hunting a powerful demon that recently arrived in this land."

Kael glanced at the others. Every one of them looked as if they were feeling the same mixture of astonishment and anxiety that Kael was feeling. He doubted that any of them had ever met a kaldorei before either; to have these two appear so inexplicably, and to be treating the encounter so [casually], as if the two races interacted every day, was in and of itself astounding.

"A demon? We haven't seen any demons," Kael said, "but something seems to be driving the undead out of Dalaran. We are in the midst of helping the inhabitants of Ambermill relocate to the nearby village of Pyrewood."

"Then we shall lend you our aid, young Kael," Tyrande said. Her voice was softer and more melodious than Maiev's, but nevertheless had the authoritative confidence of someone who not only was accustomed to command, but who expected her commands to be obeyed without question.

"Wait! We have no time for this!" Maiev said to Tyrande.

Ignoring this outburst, Tyrande continued, "Perhaps once your people are safe, you will help us hunt the demon we seek?"

"It would be an honor," Kael replied. He was beginning to understand Freywinn's starstruck expression.

"We'd better move quickly," said Vanthryn. Across the road, a third wave of at least a hundred undead poured from the forest like grain spilling through a sieve.

Lana'thel turned to face the enemy. "Go ahead," she said. "The rest of us will make a stand here."

"No," Kael said. "We must stay together. It will take all of us to protect the wagons and ensure these people get to Pyrewood."

Atherann put his hand on Lana'thel's shoulder. "It's not heroic," he told her, "but it's more prudent."

'We'll outrun them," Vorath said.

"They're not pursuing us," Andorath said, settling a stack of tents against the side of the wagon to shield the refugees. "We were simply in their path before."

"Where are your draft animals?" Tyrande asked. "The horses to pull the wagons?"

Astalor pushed up his sleeves. "Unlike four-legged beasts, my arms never tire." He reopened one of the incisions he'd made during the previous battle, then channeled a spell onto the wagons. After a moment they creaked, levitated slightly, then began to move.

"Blood magic," Maiev said. The utter contempt in her voice was chilling. Tyrande was silent, but her radiance dimmed so suddenly that Kael took it as disapproval.

"Let's move out!" Vanthryn said.

.

Even with Astalor's magic moving the wagons, it was slow going in the darkness, travelling as they were over uneven, unfamiliar terrain. Still, it seemed Andorath had been right; the undead were not pursuing.

"We are wasting time here, Tyrande," Maiev said, loud enough to be overheard. "We should be out looking for Illidan!"

"These people need our help, Maiev," Tyrande replied. "Their brethren aided us against the Legion, and so we must honor that debt now."

"They don't need our help! There are hundreds of thousands of Highborne here!"

"You have been misinformed," Kael said. "Sadly, we have few warriors left, thanks to the Scourge. They devoured Quel'Thalas, obliterating many once-proud families. The few of us that remain call ourselves 'blood elves' in homage to our murdered people."

"I grieve for your people, Kael," Tyrande said. "But you must not allow rage and despair to poison your heart. You may yet lead your people to a brighter future."

_Easily said,_ Kael thought. _Not so easily done._

"Finally!" said Amelia as intermittent flashes of firelight began to appear high in the darkness. "Those are the Pyrewood watchtowers. Once we get across the river, we'll be at their main gate."

The bridge across the river was hidden by a simple illusion; once it was dispelled, they began to move the wagons across.

"Why was the bridge concealed?" Tyrande asked.

"The undead seem reluctant to cross flowing water," Valanar said.

"Ah."

"We've escorted you here, as you asked," Maiev said. "Surely now—"

But she never finished that sentence, for it was at that moment that undead began to emerge from the shadows along their side of the riverbank. Within moments, a hundred or more were converging on the newly-visible bridge.

"Hurry the wagons across to the gates of Pyrewood!" Tyrande said. "I will stay behind and prevent the undead from crossing!"

"That's very noble of you, priestess," Maiev said, "but you're no match for so many!""

"The goddess is my shield, warden," Tyrande said with absolute conviction. "Elune will grant me the strength!"

Maiev made a disgusted sound and raced across the bridge.

What happened next was a display of power on a scale Kael had not often seen. Tyrande stood in the center of the bridge, and as the swarm of undead drew near her, she held up her arms. A circle of moonlight rippled out from her, and the undead illuminated by it stopped as if mesmerized. An instant later, a shower of blazing white lights rained down upon them, obliterating every ghoul in sight.

Unfortunately, the spell had a destructive effect on the bridge as well, for after a moment there was the hideous sound of splintering wood. Before Kael could even shout a warning the bridge shattered, tossing Tyrande into the swirling waters.

"Merciful goddess!" she cried, and then she sank under the inky surface of the water.

"We must hurry to save her!" Kael said, rushing to the riverbank. There was no sign of the priestess. "That current will take her straight into the heart of the undead lands!"

Maiev gripped his arm. "No, Kael. Tyrande was a soldier; she knew the risks she took. We have a greater mission to accomplish now, and the time grows short." She pulled him back from the riverbank. "Your people are now safe, as you requested. Uphold your end of the bargain; help me find the demon I seek."

"Your priestess was just lost! This is how you grieve for her?"

"She was _Elune's_ priestess, not mine," Maiev said coldly, but then she bowed her head. "I am sorry, Prince Kael'thas. I should not expect you to understand the demands of our goddess."

Kael didn't know if there truly was such a difference between the kaldorei and sin'dorei response to death, or if Maiev was simply trying to manipulate him. "I will send some of my people to search for her; the rest of us will help you finish your hunt."

.

The moon had risen by the time the Ambermill refugees were safely inside Pyrewood's gates. Kael joined Vanthryn, Lana'thel, and Maiev in studying a map of the area.

"You're sure your demon is here in Silverpine Forest?" Lana'thel asked.

"Yes."

"Is it aware it's being pursued?"

"Oh yes," Maiev said avidly. "Illidan knows he's hunted. Tell me where you think he could hide."

"We've already scouted the caves and most of the abandoned farmhouses in the area," Vanthryn said.

Maiev shook her head. "Too small. He has a cadre of naga with him. What of Dalaran?"

"The ruins don't offer much cover," Vanthryn said. He tapped the island cluster in the center of Lordamere Lake. "But this… it would be an ideal hiding place for your demon and his naga. Fenris Keep is deserted, well-fortified, and difficult to approach without being seen."

"Leave that to me," Maiev said.

"We'll check Dalaran as well," Kael said. "If nothing else, I want to know what agitated the undead there."

Maiev pointed to a point northeast of Dalaran, near the shore of Lordamere Lake. "I will establish a camp here," she said. "Report to me there."

"Why?"

"Illidan is powerful and extremely treacherous," she warned. "If you should discover his hiding place before I do and attack him without my guidance, you surely will be defeated. Put your forces under my command, however, and victory is assured."

Kael, bristling somewhat at her tone, said, "It is not my intention to rob you of glory, Maiev. I will lead a small group into Dalaran to search for him; whether we find him or not, I will send word to your base. In the meantime, the remainder of my people will remain here in Pyrewood, gathering their strength for the coming battle."

It was obvious that Maiev was not pleased with this answer, but she said only, "Go then, and return to me."

Despite protests that he had already spilled enough of his blood, Astalor opened a portal to the Dalaran outskirts. While a small squad made their way southeast from the portal toward Ambermill to rescue the Tayusess, Kael, Vanthryn, Selin, and Lana'thel spread out along the perimeter of the ruins, planning to work their way inward from a cardinal point.

Kael had been in Dalaran during the Second War, when the orcs had attacked and destroyed a portion of the city's walls and some of the buildings, but this was ten times worse. It was utter destruction: not a single building was intact. Eerily silent except for the carrion-flies, the only movement was the occasional flicker of a rat racing over broken stonework. There were no signs of undead. The wind, fortunately, was mostly quiescent; when it did stir it brought the nauseating stench of rotting flesh.

It was slow, dangerous egress by moonlight, and the hours crept by. The moon was almost directly overhead when Kael recognized a cushion from the couch that had been in his sitting area, and realized that he was looking at what remained of his workshop. Maiev's demon forgotten—after all, it was unlikely that the demon was still in Dalaran—Kael searched through the rubble as best he could, hoping to find at least one or two volumes from his library.

He was startled to find his face wet. How long he had been crying?

He was about to go, accepting that he would find nothing useful, when something crunched under his boot. He bent to look. Now covered with dust, it was the strange piece of metal he had found in the weapon vault on his first day in Dalaran, so many hundreds of years ago. He had never identified what it was made of, never been able to melt or even scratch it, and so it had been relegated to the collection of oddments on the shelf under his worktable. "How strange," Kael murmured as the amulet against his chest grew warm. He put the metal fragment in his pocket.

A moment later, he heard a clattering sound, and Lana'thel appeared. "There's a large black-winged horned demon and four snake-like creatures performing a ritual near the remains of the central square," she said breathlessly. "I think we might have found Maiev's prey."

.

When they returned to Pyrewood they found Freywinn, entirely dejected because he'd found no trace of Tyrande. When he asked if he could accompany Kael and Lana'thel to the night elf camp to give the news, Kael didn't have the heart to refuse him.

As they approached the camp they saw Maiev talking to a strange being. He might have been taken for a kaldorei were it not for the stag-like antlers growing from his skull. He turned to them as they approached; his eyes glowed gold.

"An archdruid," Freywinn whispered. "I never thought I'd ever see… Thank you."

"Shan'do, this is Prince Kael'thas," Maiev told the druid, "the ally I spoke of."

"Greetings, great druid," Kael said with a small bow. "We have confirmed that the demon and his minions are indeed in the ruins of Dalaran. They are using a gem-like artifact to perform a ritual."

The archdruid nodded. "The spirits of the land have shown me this as well."

"The gem must be the Eye of Sargeras!" Maiev said. "What are they trying to accomplish by releasing such terrible power?"

"They are striking at the roof of the world," the archdruid said grimly. "Splitting it open. Inflicting excruciating pain upon the earth."

"But why? What do they hope to accomplish?"

"It doesn't matter," the archdruid said. "They won't live long enough to finish their spell. Illidan must be stopped once and for all."

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_Next chapter: New alliances and old friends_

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_Next chapter: New alliances and old friends_

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A big _big_ thank you to my beta **Bryn**, who, in addition to being tirelessly meticulous about the small stuff, is also able to keep the big picture in mand and see rough spots and pacing potholes I've missed. (I touched the chapter last, though, so any errors are mine.)

I also want to thank **Stinger **for the use of Skorgrim the dwarven blacksmith, **Denis Frechette** for his instructive blacksmithing videos, and **Will Kalif** of for answering some last-minute questions about stoking a forge.

Note for those who look up unfamiliar names: Skorgrim is an OC, as are Garithos' lieutenants and the named Ambermill residents. Everyone else is from canon.

The talented fanartist RinaCane drew Kael'thas the Blacksmith for me; the link to her dA page is in my profile.

Finally, my apologies again for the slow pace! Subscribe to be notified when the next chapter arrives.

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first post 20 April 2015; rev 6 July 2015


	11. The Observation Grounds (Delrissa) 1

Disclaimer: Warcraft and World of Warcraft are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, Inc. and are being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Warcraft, World of Warcraft, or their derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.

_Chapter summary: __After the departure of the enigmatic kaldorei, Kael's encounters with the stranded naga provoke harsh responses from Garithos._

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><p><strong>Deceiver, Chapter 11: Observation Grounds (Delrissa), Part I<br>**

_by silverr_

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~ : |11| : ~

_Annihilate them!_

.

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Well, I must say I am impressed. You had the intelligence and coordination to take down Vexallus.

How fortunate for you that you work so well together.

My brother told me years ago that my success would depend on who I kept around me. I thought at the time he simply meant that one should choose one's advisors well, but I have come to understand his words to also mean that the way your followers see you shapes your destiny. If they look upon you with contempt, you may become a monster; if they look upon you with pity, you may begin to feel helpless… but if they look upon you with adoration and fear, you may start to think of yourself as an exalted being. Divine, almost a god.

Look at my dear Delrissa. She has gathered around herself the hunted, the hated, those who claim no allegiance, and those who can call no world home; beings ethereal or twisted or broken, who worship her as a goddess of death and life.

I am no different… but why would I be, when Kil'jaeden himself was shaped by those he chose to be the instruments of his vengeance?

.

.

As Kael and Lana'thel led Malfurion and Maiev toward Illidan's location in Dalaran, Maiev explained that the snakelike creatures with Illidan were called naga, and that they were Highborne who had been trapped at the bottom of the Great Sea and cursed ten millennia ago when the Well of Eternity had nearly destroyed the world.

"Cursed Highborne?" Kael's own people were descended from kaldorei Highborne who had been banished from Kalimdor after the Great Sundering. Kael had always thought it a cruel punishment, but compared to being trapped in watery darkness for millennia…

"Illidan bought their loyalty by freeing them," Maiev said. "He offered them the opportunity to wreak vengeance on those who dwell on land." She paused and then added grimly, "Every death they have caused is on his head, and on the head of the one who freed him."

"That's enough," Malfurion warned.

Maiev pressed her lips together and hurried on ahead.

"I don't understand how anyone can contain so much hatred," Lana'thel said softly.

"I can," Kael said, "if she feels about this Illidan the way I feel about Arthas."

.

Kael hadn't sensed Illidan's location when he'd first searched Dalaran, but now he could feel the spell the demon and his naga were casting pulling at him like a whirlpool through the ruins. It wasn't long before he could see a sickly greenish glow coming from a sunken courtyard.

"I feel their spell ripping through the roof of the world," Malfurion said. "We must end this!" He lifted his staff, then slammed the end of it down.

Like the ripple from a pebble dropped into a pond, a wave lifted the surface of the broken stone paving, flowing over and down the stairs leading to the courtyard. An instant later, there was a flash of green light and a cry of frustration. "No! The spell is not done! _It is not done!"_

"It is over, brother," Malfurion said, looking down into the courtyard from the top of the stairs. "Your vile schemes end here."

Kael couldn't believe what he'd just heard. No it couldn't be right. Had the archdruid referred to the demon as his brother? He raced up the stairs, but Maiev was even faster.

"Illidan Stormrage," she said, her voice thick with rage, "for recklessly endangering countless lives and threatening the very balance of the world, I hereby sentence you to death!"

The courtyard was nearly empty. Whatever artifact had been there, whatever ritual it had been used for, there was no trace of it other than the dead naga symmetrically arranged around the central mosaic — and in the center, down on one knee, the demon.

Kael had never seen such a creature. Demonic he certainly was: huge leathery wings hung from his back, hideous horns curved up from his forehead, and eerily glowing runes meandered over his bare chest and down his arms to his clawed hands. What malevolent force had twisted him thus? To Kael, Illidan's form was even more horrifying than that of the cursed naga, retaining as it did vestiges of the kaldorei he once had been. When he turned to face them, Kael was startled by the strip of black cloth covering Illidan's eyes, and the glow coming through it.

"Too much blood has been spilled on your behalf, illidan," Malfurion said. "Even now I can feel the lands of Northrend reeling from the spell you cast. Imprisonment will not be enough this time."

Northrend? Kael hadn't realized that Maiev and Malfurion had meant Northrend when they'd referred to the roof of the world. A wisp of curiosity arose in Kael: did Illidan's spell have something to do with the forces in Northrend that had twisted Kel'Thuzad and Arthas?

Maiev moved forward, down the steps toward Illidan. "I will execute him myself."

"Fools! Can you not see?" Illidan stood, and his wings rustled as if he was preparing to take flight. "The spell we channeled was meant to strike at the undead — our common enemy! My mission was to destroy the Lich King's stronghold of Icecrown!"

Stunned, Kael looked at Lana'thel and Freywinn. The Lich King? Had Illidan been attacking the lich Kel'Thuzad, the servant of Arthas? Kael felt a surge of doubt: he hadn't questioned Maiev's assertion that Illidan was malevolent, an enemy to be destroyed, but if he was fighting against the undead and Arthas…

"At no heed to the cost?" Malfurion shouted. "Because of you Tyrande is dead!" He made an angry gesture, and immediately thick vines sprang up around Illidan, tangling around his legs and waist.

"What?" Illidan whispered, sounding almost shocked. "She is… dead?"

Kael was confused. "Your pardon, Lord Stormrage," he said to Malfurion, "but the priestess may still be alive! She was swept downriver, and though Freywinn did not find her, it's premature to simply assume that—"

"Silence, Kael!" Maiev snarled, but it was too late.

"You told me she was torn apart!" Malfurion roared at Maiev. "You lied to me!"

"The Betrayer's capture was our primary concern, Shan'do," Maiev said. "I knew you would go to her aid and we would lose our chance. I—"

"Just who is the betrayer now?" Malfurion replied. "I must go to Tyrande immediately."

"Believe me brother," Illidan said, "despite all our differences, you know that I would never lead Tyrande to harm. Let me help you. My naga can scour the river for us! Let me do this, at least."

Malfurion considered, then gave a sharp nod. "Very well."

Maiev was outraged. "What? After all this he's done, you would trust this traitor to—"

Malfurion gestured again, and the vines instantly fell from Illidan and coiled around Maiev, knocking her weapon from her hand. "Silence! I will deal with you later. Let's go—brother."

As they started to leave, Freywinn stepped in front of Malfurion. "Great one, the druidic ways have long been lost to our people. Before you leave our shores, I beg you—heal our land."

Malfurion looked down at him. "The old ways are not as lost as you think, young one," he said, putting his palm against Freywinn's forehead for a moment before he moved away.

"Don't just stand there," Maiev demanded as soon as Malfurion and Illidan were out of sight. "Cut me free!"

"I don't think so," Kael said, watching as Lana'thel picked up Maiev's weapon. "Your shan'do put you in those vines. I trust his judgment."

"Then you are a fool," she said. "As much a fool as he."

"Archdruid Malfurion seems very wise," Freywinn said, sounding dazed. He was gingerly touching his forehead.

"He's blinded by love," Maiev said contemptuously.

"Tell me more about those brothers, and their priestess, and the naga," Kael said, "and I will consider freeing you."

.

Some hours later, after the vines holding Maiev had receded and she had snatched up her weapon and rushed off, Kael, Lana'thel and Freywinn headed back toward Pyrewood Village. It was just after moonset; the sky was beginning to lighten with predawn.

The story that Kael had coaxed from Maiev was a puzzling one, even after making allowances for her strong biases. As Kael understood it, ten thousand years previously, Illidan, a Highborne sorcerer, had aided Queen Azshara's scheme to summon the dark Titan Sargeras to Azeroth, a folly that drew the attention of a demonic horde and resulted in the War of the Ancients. That war had only ended with the destruction of the Well of Eternity, an event which had very nearly shattered the entire world, but, according to Maiev, Illidan's crimes had not stopped there. Even though it had been forbidden, Illidan had clandestinely taken water from the Well prior to its destruction and had used it to create a new Well at the summit of Mount Hyjal. According to Maiev, it was for this last transgression above all else that Illidan had been imprisoned for ten thousand years in the deep prison of the Barrow Dens. Kael could not fathom why Illidan would have been so severely punished for attempting to restore what his people had lost.

Stranger still, not long ago Illidan had been freed by Tyrande Whisperwind, the High Priestess of Elune. When Kael had pressed Maiev for a reason why the priestess would do this, Maiev professed not to know. Clearly there was enmity between the two—Tyrande had apparently killed many of Maiev's Watchers in the process of freeing Illidan, and others had died fighting the naga that Illidan had summoned—but Kael sensed that there was more to the story.

Finally, as culpable as Illidan was for deaths he and his naga had caused, and for the destruction his pursuit of power had brought to their people, Kael doubted Maiev's insistence that Illidan was irredeemably demonic. The brief interaction Kael had witnessed between the brothers suggested otherwise. Illidan had seemed genuinely distressed about Tyrande, and if he truly were as monstrous as Maiev claimed, Malfurion surely would have had him executed thousands of years ago.

A fascinating quartet: he was sorry to see them go. He would have liked to know how the story ended — whether the brothers found their priestess, whether Maiev caught her prey… a pity he'd never know.

A messenger was waiting for them outside of Pyrewood Village, with orders that Kael and his key advisors were to report to Garithos at his camp north of Dalaran at dawn.

Puzzled—and somewhat uneasy—Kael asked Astalor, Vanthryn, Lana'thel, and Pathaleon to accompany him.

Garithos and his lieutenants rode out to meet them as they approached the camp.

"You are late, Prince Kael'thas," Garithos said as he reined in his horse. "I thought you elves prided yourselves on punctuality."

"It could not be helped, Lord Garithos. We've been assisting a delegation of night elves from across the sea," Kael replied. "They were pursuing a demon who—"

"I am not interested in your fanciful excuses. Night elves? Demons? What's next—dragons? You say you are here to serve the Alliance. I allowed you to establish your own base of operations, and how do you repay my trust? By wasting time traipsing around doing Light knows what!"

"We defended the residents of Ambermill from the undead, milord, and helped them relocate to Pyrewood Village."

"On whose authority?"

"Our own," Kael said. "Ambermill was under attack; there was no time to seek permission. We were honor-bound to protect them; we did what needed to be done."

"Honor." Garithos curled his lip. "What gall, talking to me about honor. You elves are here to serve the Alliance; therefore, you will obey my commands—and only my commands—to the letter! Is that clear?"

Gratifying as it might feel, returning Garithos' rudeness in kind was unwise. Kael took a deep breath. "Yes, Lord Garithos."

Garithos' horse stamped and tossed its head, as if impatient with the conversation, and Garithos changed the subject. "The undead have begun a new offensive. Their primary strike force marched south through Silverpine, but we managed to halt its advance at the base of the mountains."

Kael wasn't certain that he had heard correctly. Was Garithos finally going to give them the opportunity to fight alongside human soldiers? He knew that Lana'thel and Freywinn must be exhausted, but fortunately the rest of his people had spent the night at Pyrewood and would be well-rested. "We are ready to fight, milord," he said. "When shall we leave for the front?"

"We will be leaving immediately. But your people will be staying here."

"But they are fighters, experienced in battling the undead. Send them somewhere they can be useful!"

"Useful? Very well. Our scouts report that a second strike force may be heading toward Dalaran from the east. Repair the outlying observatories so that we can monitor that region."

Someone — Astalor or Vanthryn, Kael wasn't sure — made a soft scoffing noise, but he didn't dare turn his head to look. "Repairing the observatories is a task that will occupy only a handful of us for an hour or two," he said. "What about the rest of my people?"

"You chose to set yourself and your people apart from the Alliance," Garithos said. "Re-thinking that, are you?"

Kael held back from reminding Garithos that the elves had been told to fend for themselves when they'd arrived and all but forcibly driven from the main camp.

"If you move your people up here," Garithos said expansively, "I'm sure we'll be able to find something for them to do."

"Must be time to dig new latrines," Astalor murmured.

"Enough," Kael said quietly.

"Well, you have your orders, Prince Kael'thas," Garithos said. "I trust your elven ears heard them clearly enough? Move out!"

And then he and his aides wheeled their horses around and rode them back into the Alliance camp.

Kael swore quietly in Thalassian, then pulled himself together. "Let's get this over with," he said.

"If I could?" Pathaleon said hesitantly. "As your quartermaster, I wonder if we might perhaps consider the Grand Marshal's suggestion? Our resources are dwindling, after all, and with the Ambermill residents evacuated to Pyrewood Village, there's no one to protect in Silverpine except ourselves."

Kael looked at Vanthryn and Lana'thel; he could see that they agreed. "Is it worth tolerating Garithos' abuse in hopes that we might be seen as useful allies by the other human commanders?" he asked them.

"That might be prudent," Astalor said, then added with a smile, "After all, any of them might be leading the army someday. Who knows when Garithos might meet with an unfortunate accident?"

"And if we're underfoot," Vanthryn said as Kael gave Astalor a warning glare, "they might give us missions simply to have us out of the way."

"That's what worries me," Kael said. "We must risk it, if only because we have no other choice."

At Pyrewood Village, they gave their regards to the Ambermill refugees. When Kael explained that he had been ordered to transfer his forces to Garithos' encampment, William and Amelia stressed how grateful they were for the help that Kael and his people had given them, and admonished Kael to take care of himself.

"And you're not leaving without supplies," Amelia said brusquely. "In a horse-drawn wagon. Save your veins for something more important than transport." This last was addressed to Astalor, who pretended to be offended.

As the wagon was being loaded, Kael explained their new orders to the rest of his people. "After we salvage anything useful left at the farm," he said, "Astalor and I will see to the observatories while the rest of you get settled up north."

"Might I accompany you on the repair mission?" an elf with short hair asked. "The observatories are magitech; I worked on them with the Dalaran engineers more than once."

"Telonicus, isn't it?" Kael said. "Your expertise is most welcome."

As the few supplies left at the farm were quickly loaded onto Amelia's wagon, Kael went to the lean-to that had been his makeshift smithy and stood at the forge, looking down at the ashy leavings that were the only evidence of his attempt to repair the sword. It had only been a day, yet it felt as though much more time had passed… or rather, Kael had the sense that time was rushing past while he stood still, accomplishing nothing that he had vowed to do. It wasn't Garithos' scorn that troubled him; it was the knowledge that the kaldorei were also pursuing Arthas. Kael didn't know how he could face his people if Illidan was the one to take Arthas down. Then again, if Maiev caught her prey before Illidan did away with his…

He looked up as he heard someone walking toward him. It was Lana'thel and Astalor.

"There may be undead near the observatories," Lana'thel said. "Selin and I will escort you and stand guard while you work."

As the observatories were located along Dalaran's outskirts rather than in the midst of its ruins, Kael was certain that he, Astalor, and Telonicus would be more than adequate to deal with any stray undead they might encounter. Nevertheless, he nodded and said, "The company is not unwelcome."

The corner of Lana'thel's mouth curved up in a charming half-smile, and she came to stand beside him at the forge. "In a way, I'm relieved that you weren't able to repair the sword here, in the middle of human lands. To me it's more fitting that it be restored in the heart of Quel'Thalas."

Kael, while he understood Lana'thel's sentiment, had no intention of working on the blade in Silvermoon. It had been humiliating enough having Lana'thel witness his initial failure; should he now entertain the general populace with a public spectacle of his inadequacy?

"You're tired," Lana'thel said when he didn't respond. "All will seem less bleak once you've had time to rest."

Kael glanced at Astalor, who looked unexpectedly reserved. The awkward silence was interrupted by Telonicus, who regarded the forge skeptically. "Is this where you were working on Felo'melorn?" he asked, picking up a brittle lump of charcoal. "It's a wonder you even got a fire to draw with such primitive equipment. I'm guessing the metal barely became warm?"

"Kael'thas said that the sword needed to be submerged in lava," Lana'thel said. "I thought he was joking."

"No, that's accurate, if impractical," Telonicus said. "The problem with forging in lava is the retrieval. 'A molten anvil is difficult to work with, especially if your flesh is charred to the bone!' — or so the Master Firesmith used to say."

"You studied under Voladranus?" Kael asked. What metalcraft he knew he had learned a thousand years ago from the burn-scarred elf; he had been especially sad to see him listed on the rolls of those who died during the invasion.

"Thaumaturgic metallurgy," Telonicus said. He crumbled the charcoal between his fingers. "A brilliant teacher, if eccentric. His solution to intractable problems was always 'Apply dragonfire!'"

"I well remember," Kael said. "Dragons must have been more plentiful in his day. Or more accommodating."

"So dragonfire solves all?" Lana'thel asked. "Well, what if we surrounded the forge with a bonfire? Would that approximate dragon's breath?"

"Doubtful," Telonicus said. "Metalworking takes sustained heat."

"But a dragon doesn't breathe flame steadily for hours, does it?" she countered.

Kael was certain that any fire the four of them could build would fall far short of being an adequate substitute for dragon's breath, but Telonicus said suddenly, "Actually… you've given me an idea, Lana. The semi-liquid compound used in the fire bombs I've been designing burns extremely hot. If applied to a sufficiently large quantity of wood…. it won't be dragon's breath, but it might come close." He curled his fingers into fists, and then bumped the knuckles of each hand against each other. "Arrange the sword on something flat with the broken ends abutting. I'll spread additional compound on the break, we'll coat the rest of the blade with clay, and then start the fire. We'll come back once it's burned out and see if it got hot enough for ends of the break to fuse."

Kael had his doubts, but Lana'thel and Telonicus were so enthusiastic that he nodded. Within moments, the two had reduced the lean-to to a pile of broken planks, which they began stacking around three sides of the forge.

Kael knew that they probably should be carrying out Garithos' orders and repairing the observatories, but he supposed another quarter-hour would hardly make any difference.

As Lana'thel and Selin ran off to pull down the rest of the farm's outbuildings—Astalor was nowhere to be seen—Telonicus announced that he would mix a clay-and-flux slurry to protect the greater portion of the blade from the flames.

After some thought, Kael arranged the forge's dead coals with a deep furrow traversing the width. When Telonicus returned with the slurry, the two of them coated all but the very edges of the break with the mixture; when it had dried, they buried all but the uncoated edges in the coals.

"This should allow the heated air to circulate around both sides of the blade," Telonicus said, squatting at the edge of the forge and peering critically at the setup. "But we should put something underneath the break in case the coals collapse. Something that won't burn."

Kael, feeling increasingly doubtful about the wisdom of such an unorthodox approach, was about to suggest that they not even bother when he recalled the shard of black metal in his pocket. He pulled it out and showed it to Telonicus. "Perhaps this?"

Telonicus' eyes went wide. "What is that from?"

"I do not know," Kael said, holding the shard of grey-veined black metal by one edge as Telonicus coated it with the flame compound, a thick, honey-like liquid. "I came across it in a weapons store-room during my first week in Dalaran. No one was ever able to identify its composition or what type of weapon it came from, so I kept it as a curiosity. " He slipped the shard under the edges of the break; Telonicus' compound made it cling to the underside of the broken blade. "I happened to find it in the ruins of my workshop when we were searching for Illidan."

"Fortunately for us." Telonicus carefully daubed more flame compound along the faint seam of the adjoining pieces. "Perhaps it wanted to be found by you."

"What a thought," Kael said. He noticed the packet with the remainder of Skorgrim's color crystals in the bottom of the empty coal box; he unfolded the packet and sprinkled the crystals into the forge. "I was told these would give flames a blue cast if the temperature was sufficiently great."

"Then we must ensure that it is sufficient."

Kael turned around to see who had spoken and saw Astalor — and next to him, Rommath.

Astalor waved a hand and said, "I thought that, as the three of us worked together with such success on Quel'Danas, coordinating our power to burn out the corrupted Sunwell, we could easily do so again. Felo'melorn is, after all, almost as much a symbol of the power of the quel'dorei— "

"Sin'dorei," Rommath said quietly.

"—the power of the sin'dorei as the Sunwell. It will mean a great deal to our people to have it restored."

Kael had come to understand Astalor well enough to know that what he said and did were not always truthful reflections of his thoughts and feelings, and wondered what, if anything, this apparently straightforward offer was masking. Taken at face value, it did offer an explanation — albeit a somewhat contrived one — for Rommath's presence, but Kael couldn't shake the feeling that it was a test of some sort. And if he failed, when he failed, it would demonstrate that, whether the task was magical or mundane, Kael could accomplish nothing of import on his own. He could almost hear Astalor asking someone — Theron, perhaps — how it was in the best interests of Quel'Thalas to follow such a weak, ineffectual person.

He rubbed his eyes. Lana'thel was right: exhaustion was making him fearful and suspicious, seeing disloyalty and treason where there was none.

if there was any culprit, it was within his own heart. The crowds in Silvermoon who had greeted him with hostility had mired him in self doubt, certain that they would never follow him the way they had followed his father. And why should they? Anasterian's belief in the superiority of the elves was so strong that he never would have turned to outsiders for help: had Kael made his people look weak by turning to the Alliance of Lordaeron?

"My lord?" Rommath looked concerned, and Kael realized that he had not responded to Astalor's comment.

"Yes, of course," he said. "Restoring the sword is a task worthy of our skills."

Lana'thel and Selin and Telonicus approached with armloads of broken planks and piled them around and over the forge. As Telonicus poured the last of his flame compound over the mound of wood, Astalor and Rommath started to move into position around the perimeter of the woodpile.

"No," Kael said suddenly. "Stop. Wait."

"Is something wrong?" Rommath asked.

"There is something I must say," Kael replied. "Indulge me."

He put his hand over his chest, clutching the fire-amulet through his robe. Its presence was a reminder of the vision he'd had during the phoenix-transformation that had created the Scorched Grove, the vision of the old man — his father's spirit, he believed — who had urged him to persevere.

"What does it mean to lead a people, to be a ruler? What qualities does it require, what virtues?

"I learned the answer from the examples of my father and brother: courage, confidence, strength, unshakeable resolve, nobility of spirit. I have never considered myself to possess those characteristics in any great measure, but then again I always expected to serve as an advisor to the crown, not wear it myself. A role with which I would have been content.

"But my father and brother were taken from us, and I am expected to rule in their stead."

Kael knew that when even these, his closest advisors, looked at him, they saw not a strong, inspiring leader who could guide their people, but a bookish scholar who needed constant protection. Arthas himself had seen it the day they met: "Leave this old elf to his books," he had told Jaina.

"I have struggled with how to become the kind of king my father was," Kael continued, "the kind of king my brother would have been, but I now know that this is impossible."

They all looked startled, and all but Astalor and Telonicus opened their mouths to protest, but Kael held up his hand. "Our world has changed. We can no longer live in placid contentment behind golden doors and walls, muffling our ears to the cries of those outside our borders, for that which protected us has been smashed to dust. We are beset by multiple enemies, and have seen the allies of old withdraw the hand they once extended in welcome.

"But we will not let that stop us. We are sin'dorei! We will remake ourselves, and rise from the ashes into new glory!"

Kael imagined gathering up his frustrations and uncertainties and self-reproach like so much spectral kindling and casting them onto the unlit pyre; somehow this symbolic gesture made him feel lighter, as though he'd been relieved of a weight he hadn't even noticed that he was carrying.

"Anasterian did what was necessary for his time, in the way he thought best, according to his nature," Kael said, feeling the truth of the words soar as he spoke them, "and so must I. I will do what is necessary for our time, but I must do it in my own way."

Still holding the amulet tightly, he drew on the power he had stored in the verdant spheres, drinking it in until he felt it pool and burst in his chest, an incandescence that arced outward to his fingertips, his pinions. As Astalor and Rommath fell back from the igniting woodpile, Kael spread his arms, his wings, and rose up.

As the flames below him became an inferno, he circled above it, joyous, the crescendo of magic pulsing from the center of his being in ebbing waves. High, higher he soared, so far that the land became a tapestry of green and brown and yellow and gray; through the clouds he flew, gloriously free, applauded by the sun. He knew he must return; he had a great mission before him...

He was lying on his back. Although there were twigs and sharp leaves poking into his skin, he felt calm, more fully rested than he had been in weeks.

_(He dimly recalled spiralling down, away from the wistful sun, though the clouds, stretching out his fiery talons as the field rushed up at him; slowing his descent with strong backbeats of his wings until talons became feet and wingtips became hands.)_

A gust of wind whispered through the dry stalks around him; then he heard faint voices.

He stood up. He had landed in an uncleared area in the southeastern quadrant of the field. Over the tops of the shoulder-high vegetation that surrounded him, he saw that he was some distance south of the house and the forge — or rather, south of the massive twin bonfires blazing where the house and forge had been. Astalor, Rommath, Selin, Lana'thel, and Telonicus were running toward him.

There was a rustle at his feet, and saw that someone— Astalor, most likely — had teleported a robe to him. As he slipped it on, he noticed that his amulet was missing; it must have fallen off when he transformed.

"Clearly you've mastered the phoenix-form," Astalor panted, slowing to a walk as he came near. "A graceful landing instead of falling, and you aren't sleeping for four days afterward."

"A good thing too," Kael said. "Garithos isn't known for his patience."

"That was quite a speech," Selin said. "I feel privileged to be one of the first to have heard it."

"The fire is burning well," Lana'thel said.

"Yes," Kael said, "although not quite as impressive as I'd hoped." Half-thinking, he gestured toward the bonfire.

A massive gout of flame burst from his fingertips and arced over the field toward the forge's bonfire. When it hit, it doubled the height of the flames and threaded them with brilliant blue.

Kael stared at his hand in astonishment. He felt none of the pain that had hampered and choked his spellcasting ever since Arthas had invaded Quel'Thalas… Wonderingly, he flicked his fingers, conjuring a small fireball. He felt almost dizzy with elation. He was… restored? How was it possible? Had the Sunwell somehow healed itself and been re-ignited?

"Is there something wrong, my prince?" Selin asked.

"I… no," he said. He nodded at the two bonfires. "As we will have to wait for those to die down before we see the results of our attempt at dragonfire, let us pass the time by repairing Garithos' observatories."

.

They moved quickly through the forest between the farm and the observatory south of the ruins of Dalaran, alert for undead, but they saw none. Ambermill too was empty, eerily silent.

The first observatory was just outside the ruins of the South Gate. While Telonicus and Rommath made the repairs, Kael sat on a stone and studied a puff of conjured flame, considering how he might convert its fire energy to a form that would recharge the magic in the depleted moon-crystals at the heart of his verdant spheres. He had tried casting other spells—first an arcane spark, of course, and then a frost bloom—but they made him feel clumsy and vaguely ill. Although he preferred the feel of arcane, fire had always come most easily to him, so perhaps it was no wonder that it was the first to return.

"That's a rare sight," Lana'thel said as she and Astalor picked their way through the rubble toward him.

"Clearly you have spent very little time aroudn mages," Astalor said. "Conjuring that sort of non-burning flame is the first spell a mage is taught if they are still a very young child, but after it's mastered no one but those attempting to impress non-mages ever waste time with something so useless again."

"I didn't mean the fire," Lana'thel countered. "I meant the sight of Kael'thas smiling."

"We've not had much to smile about for some time," Telonicus said without looking up from his work.

"And now we do?" Rommath asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Though this task is small," Kael said, "it is our first official mission for the Alliance of Lordaeron."

"So you consider the insult of being assigned a menial task… progress?" Astalor asked.

"If it marks the beginning of a new era of human-elven cooperation."

"Done," Telonicus said. He made a final adjustment; as he closed a panel at the base of the observatory obelisk and bolted it in place, the orbs atop the observatory crackled with energy, and then began to rotate. "The other two are along the eastern shore of the lake."

"Portal?" Astalor asked.

"No," Kael said, dismissing the flame. "If Garithos' scouts were correct, a large undead strike force is gathering in that area. I would prefer not to teleport blindly into our enemy."

"Walk or swim?" Astalor asked. The shoreline, once a pleasant greenway that curved around the base of steep cliffs, was now edged with scree and jagged debris. ""Either way — "

He didn't finish his sentence. Three creatures Kael recognized as naga emerged from the water and glided toward them. The two in the front, scaly dragon-headed brutes carrying massive bronze spears, were similar to the corpses Kael had seen in the courtyard where Illidan had been doing his ritual, but the third was different. Smaller, with light blue skin, its features were more delicate than the other two; its glossy, elaborately-curled black hair and upper torso made it seem almost feminine, although as it came closer Kael saw that what he had at first taken to be hair was actually an assemblage of snakes, something he found even more horrifying than the creature's six arms. It held a large, ornate bow in one of its three left hands.

"Naga!" Kael said, conjuring a fireball, and noting that Lana'thel and Selin had already raised their weapons and taken a battle-ready stance. "You came to this land with the demon Illidan!"

The naga with the bow spoke. "We are on our own now, good prince. I am called Lady Vashj." Her voice would have been pleasantly melodious if not for its eerie watery quaver. "My brethren and I come in peace, to offer you our aid."

Even without Maiev's stories of naga brutality, Kael knew well enough not to mistake polite speech for nobility or gentleness of spirit. "You have nothing I need, witch," he said firmly.

"Is that so?" Her inhuman face gave no indication if she was offended or amused, which was unsettling. She made some guttural hissing sounds and gestured to her companions, who turned and dove into the water. "I thought you might require boats to reach the observatories you seek," she said.

"How do you know what I require?"

She swayed slightly. "We observed your progress, and overheard the conversation that followed." Behind her, the water churned as the algae-stained hulls of two small boats broke the surface, then were set upright.

"And you would give these freely?" Kael asked. "Why should I trust you, my lady?"

"For the same reason that I trust that you and your five companions will not attack me. Our two races share a common ancestry, Kael. Now, against the undead, we share a common peril. These boats are merely a gesture of goodwill."

Kael considered. The boats seemed to be serviceable, and using them would be expedient. As long as they remained cautious and watchful around the naga, perhaps it was worth the risk…

"You hesitate," Vashj said. "Would it ease your mind if we withdrew?"

Astalor folded his arms. "To ambush us from beneath the water?"

"How suspicious you land dwellers are," she said. "If you prefer, we could accompany you from the shallows." She added, "As a sign of trust, we will even allow you to carry our weapons."

"Thus drawing our attention away from the warriors you have hidden in the depths of the lake?" Astalor said.

"If I had such superior numbers and meant you harm," Vashj said smoothly, "I would have overpowered you by now." She was in constant motion, torso swaying like a reed, her coif of water serpents and eels undulating and coiling… Grotesque, and yet also fascinating.

"Very true," Kael said. ""I accept your offer. Thank you."

"Unfortunately, we found no oars near the boats," Vashj said. "My warriors can pull the boats across the lake, but that will be impossible from the shallows."

Well-played, Kael thought and almost laughed. And now they're 'her warriors' instead of our brethren. This Lady excels at delicate distinctions. Glancing at Astalor, Kael motioned to the naga to bring a boat near, and then stepped into it. Lana'thel and Selin followed him; Astalor, Rommath and Telonicus boarded the other.

Vashj made a series of hissing, clicking sounds—naga language, Kael assumed—and her warriors moved to the prow of each boat. Kael found these naga males—he assumed they were males, as their draconian heads and massive torsos differed so much in appearance from Vashj — truly repulsive, even without the overpoweringly oily odor that emanated from their skin.

Vashj gave a signal, and as one the naga loomed up out of the water, holding out the blunt ends of their spears toward Kael and the others. "In the absence of rope..." she said.

Kael, who had been startled by the sudden movement, said, "Ah, I understand. We are meant to hold onto the warriors' weapons in order to allow them to pull the boats across the lake?"

Vashj moved to Lana'thel and held out her bow. "Perhaps you would hold this for me until we have made the crossing?"

Reluctantly, Lana'thel took the bow and then looked at Kael.

"As assurance that she will not attack us from range," Kael said, "and, I suspect, an acknowledgement that you are the superior warrior among our company."

Vashj made a sibilant sound which Kael took to mean that he had interpreted her actions correctly, and then the boats began to move. Moments later they were at the far shore, within sight of the second observatory.

"Thank you," Kael said to Vashj, bowing to her before he stepped out of the boat. Her silvery eyes were expressionless, but once Kael and the others were ashore and Lana'thel had returned her bow, she inclined her head and bowed slightly as well — a gesture that was oddly graceful despite the writhing snakes framing her face — and then turned and dove into the water after her warriors.

"How unexpected," Astalor said as they hurried toward the observatory.

"She said they were abandoned by Illidan. Perhaps they are looking for allies?"

"They won't find allies here," Selin said. "Their best hope is to return to the sea and swim back to rejoin the rest of their kind. It's not far to the western coast; they should be able to travel overland through Silverpine."

"Done," Telonicus said as the observatory began to hum with power. "On to the next?"

The last of the observatories was soon repaired. Kael, though eager to return to the farm and retrieve Felo'melorn, decided that the prudent course was to first give Garithos their report.

"Open a portal," he said to Astalor and Rommath. Once they reached the gates of the Alliance camp, Kael asked Selin to locate their new encampment.

"He doesn't look happy," Lana'thel said, looking at something over Kael's shoulder.

Kael turned. Garithos and his lieutenants Winters and Yift were riding toward them, scowling with disapproval.

"Hail, Lord Garithos," Kael began. "The observatories have been repaired as you requested. We were just about to—"

"Is it true that you consorted with the vile naga?" Garithos asked.

Kael was shocked, but as there was no denying it, the only thing to do was to explain. "Well, yes milord. They helped us cross the lake. I can assure you they pose no threat to us or to—"

"They are inhuman, and must be crushed like any other enemy!" Garithos' eyes narrowed. "Be careful where you place your loyalties, blood elf. I will not tolerate treason in my ranks."

Kael was astounded. Garithos was threatening him? "My loyalty is to the Alliance, Lord Garithos, and always has been."

"That remains to be seen. Now I must return to the front. You will remain here and wait for further orders."

Kael watched Garithos and Saxon ride away. How had he known about the naga? Had he actually sent someone to spy on them?

"An accident," Astalor muttered. "I could make it look like an accident."

Ignoring this, Kael asked Lieutenant Yift, who had not followed Saxon and Garithos, "Are our hawkstriders stabled with the horses?"

"Your hawk what now?"

"Hawkstriders. Our mounts. We brought two of them." The way that Yift was leering at Lana'thel was intolerable.

"The big chickens? I couldn't say — but it's no matter. You heard Lord Garithos: you're to remain here."

"I need to retrieve an item from our prior encampment."

"Is that what you call it? Your prior encampment? We call it 'the place the elves burned down.' " Yift shook his head and made tsk-tsk sounds. "Did you think we wouldn't notice? The flames and smoke were visible for miles."

Kael was stunned. Had whoever investigated the fire had followed them to the lake and thus seen them with the naga? He looked at Astalor, who from his expression seemingly was wondering the same.

"It was a dragon," Astalor said.

Yift snorted. "You don't expect me to believe that."

"No, he doesn't," Kael said. "The truth of it is that one of our engineers has been developing a fire compound for the Alliance. The farm we'd been using as our base appeared to be an acceptable location for testing, as it was long abandoned and the buildings derelict. The test got out of hand. My apologies."

Yift considered this. "Why are you going back there?"

"In our hurry to escape the fire, I left something behind," Kael said. "A broken sword that belonged to my great-great-grandfather. It has sentimental value."

"Couldn't be that important if you left it behind."

Kael had a momentary urge to incinerate the man or at the very least strangle him, but he willed himself to be calm and speak patiently. "I meant to retrieve it after we completed our mission to repair the observatories, but it slipped my mind."

Yift looked sceptical, but motioned to a group of nearby soldiers and told them, "Get the wagon and escort this elf to that burned-out farm down south."

"That's not necessary," Kael'thas said. "I can just portal—"

"No," Yift said. "You'll do it my way, or not at all."

"We'll go with you," Astalor said.

Yift gave him a sour look. "Since when does it take more than one elf to pick up a sword?"

"Would you expect _your_ king to go anywhere without members of his Royal Guard?" Astalor countered.

Yift clenched his jaw. "Fine. But two of you need to stay here to guarantee I get my wagon back."

"That is… acceptable."

The wagon, when it came, had barred sides.

"Kael'thas Sunstrider is heir to the throne of the kingdom of Quel'Thalas!" Astalor said angrily. "This is a prisoner transport!"

"It's what I have," Yift said. "Take it or leave it."

Kael, furious to be receiving yet more insulting treatment from Garithos' men, was nevertheless determined to do whatever it took to retrieve Felo'melorn, and so he said, "It's of no consequence, Astalor. I am not diminished by this." He glanced at Lana'thel as he climbed in, and she quickly followed; and after some inaudible communication with Astalor and Telonicus, Rommath did as well.

_To be treated like a criminal and be thus humiliated…_ he thought as the wagon bumped and jostled, _I have had my fill of the Alliance._ He did not wish to speak in front of the human driver, however, and so with a quick shake of his head signalled Lana'thel and Rommath to be silent as well.

.

Kael had expected to see twin heaps of charred, smoking wood at the farm, but only the collapsed remains of the house were visible from the road.

Where the forge bonfire had been there was — nothing, or rather, nothing that he had come for. Ash, soot, and fragments of charcoal and blackened wood radiated outward from a central point, at which was a small pile of ash outlined by still-warm traces of metal. Kael knelt and sifted through the ash, carefully at first and then more and more frantically, but found nothing but bits of slag and a few shards of red-flecked glass.

He looked up at the others, his horror mirrored in their faces.

He had destroyed Felo'melorn.

By the time they returned to the Alliance camp, he was mute with self-reproach. He had been punished for his arrogance, found unworthy by the ancestors. He barely noticed the human soldiers gaping and laughing at them as they climbed down from the prisoner wagon; he followed Selin to their camp, where he slipped into his tent and, infinitely weary, sank into oblivion.

.

He woke next morning to a commotion.

Lieutenant Saxon and several of Garithos' elite guard stood in the center of his camp, talking to his people.

"Should I take my tent?" Veras was asking.

"No. just your weapons."

"Good morning, lieutenant," Kael said. "What is this about?"

"Greetings, Prince Kael. I bring word from Grand Marshal Garithos. Apparently the observatories you repaired yesterday have detected a large undead force massing nearby. Lord Garithos has commanded that you crush the undead before they can march on Dalaran."

A real mission at last? How unexpected. "Excellent! My people are all well-rested and ready for battle."

"Unfortunately, your forces may be a little thinned. You see, Lord Garithos has also ordered that all foot soldiers, cavalry, and support teams report to the front." He attempted to show Kael a list with many names, but Kael didn't need to see it, not when an unhappy crowd was gathering the the center of the camp: Lana'thel, Vanthryn, Sarannis, Veras, Selin, Thaladred, Gathios, Telonicus, Malande, Ennas…

"This is preposterous!" Kael said. "You're leaving me with less than one-tenth of my forces! Am I to assault the undead with nothing more than sticks and harsh language?"

"That is how mages fight, after all, isn't it?" Saxon joked. "Staves and magical spells?" He saw that Kael was not laughing along with him, and stopped smiling. "The grand marshal has great confidence in your abilities. Be creative."

And then he left.

"Garithos…" Kael said. "I'm starting to hate that man."

"Just starting?" Rommath murmured.

"So what shall we do?" Navarius asked. "Call on Silvermoon for reinforcements?"

"And have them snatched up to serve Garithos on the front? No. We will do this on our own. He thinks we will fail: let us prove him wrong."

"As he's taken all our priests and our paladin," Rommath said, "give me a moment to brew some healing potions."

.

As it was the eastern observatories that had most likely detected undead — heading for Dalaran from the ruins of Lordaeron's capital city — Kael and his band of mages headed southeast from the Alliance camp, along the eastern shore of Lordamere Lake.

"I don't see any undead," Sandoval said. "How very disappointing."

"Prepare to he elated, then," Navarious said. "That looks to be a band of several dozen attacking the observatory."

The ghouls were the more aggressive type, and responded to their attacks by charging, but the elves managed to whittle their numbers while staying out of their reach.

It was only when Tenris turned away from the ground and began flinging his flame-bolts to the north that Kael noticed three additional groups of Scourge converging on them from the north, east, and south. With the lake to their back in the west, they were surrounded with nowhere to go.

"We must portal out, now!" Astalor shouted. "It is the only way! There are too many!"

The lake behind them churned suddenly, and a rain of arrows arced over their heads, pinning down the nearest group of undead.

Lady Vashj emerged from the water, a dozen naga warriors and sorceresses behind her. "Ishnu-dal-dieb, Prince Kael. We've come to join your fight against the vile dead."

"Greetings, Lady Vashj," Kael said. "I would welcome your aid gladly, but the commander I serve does not approve of your kind." Kael followed the flame-sphere that Taladram had sent toward an abomination with a carpet of scorched earth.

"I do not see him here, sharing your peril." Vashj said. "Let me bolster your forces with my own. If not, you and your brethren will surely fall."

"What you say is true. But I…" Kael looked around. Blood streamed not just from Astalor's arm, but Tenris' and Sandoval's and Rommath's as well. Kael watched as two young mages he did not know well passed a dagger between them.

"More undead!" Vorath shouted as yet another wave of undead crested the hills to the northwest.

Kael could not ask them to fight like this. To die like this. "I accept your offer, Vashj."

"Good! Let's get to it then!" Vashj and her naga glided from the water. The myrmidons charged the undead with trident and spears, while the sorceresses and Vashj moved in front of the elves, the former casting lightning and frost bolts while Vashj shot what appeared to be an endless stream of arrows from her bow. By the time the undead were vanquished their charred remains covered the land around the observatory like grisly snow. Vashj had lost two of her people; Kael had lost none of his.

"You have my thanks, Lady," Kael said, watching as the naga extricated the corpses of the two fallen myrmidons from the field and bore them into the lake. "This victory would not have been possible without your aid, although I fear I may have doomed myself by accepting it."

"Why?"

"My forces were severely reduced before being sent on this mission," Kael said. "I believe it was done to ensure that my company and I would not survive this battle. The fact that we did will make it obvious that we had assistance."

"But we did assist you, did we not?"

"Yes, and for that I am grateful," Kael said, putting his hand on his heart and giving a small bow. "However, to some, the good deed is less important than the form of the doer. We were... observed during our previous mission to this area, and forbidden by my commander to associate with you further."

"The human you serve trusts no race but his own," Vashj said. "His sense of honor runs no deeper than his tolerance. Why do you continue to serve such a one?"

"It is loyalty and duty that bind me to him and to this… failing Alliance," Kael said. "I thought, if we served unswervingly, we would be repaid in kind. "But now those tenets seem as distant as our ruined homeland."

"Then perhaps, young Kael, it is time to find a new path to power and glory. Magic flowed through your veins for over ten thousand years. You became accustomed to it, grew to depend on it. And now, with the corruption of your land and the Sunwell that empowered you, you have been cut off from your power, from your birthright! Without a new source of magic, your people will surely die." She leaned toward him. "How long can they bleed for you?"

Astalor waved a hand dismissively. "We each do what must be done, in our own way, according to our nature."

"I can't allow it to continue," Kael said to him. "Draining your life force in this manner…"

"There are other founts of power in this world, Kael," Vashj said. "Nearly limitless supplies, if one knows where to look, and how to take advantage of them. Demons, for instance."

"Demons?"

"Yessss," Vashj said. "There are methods of drawing upon a demon's energy as you once drew upon the arcane energy in the Sunwell."

"You speak of madness, my lady," Kael said. "We will never be that desperate."

"Your aversion is understandable. But still— "

"Prince Kael!" Sandoval said, pointing to the north. "Garithos' standard-bearers!"

Navarious peered into the distance. "He's brought a full battalion with him."

"Damn! Vashj, you'd best leave," Kael said. "I cannot guarantee your people's safety. Hurry!"

Vashj and her people dove into the lake, but not soon enough: a squad of Garithos' cavalry came thundering down the hill.

"Naga warriors!" one of them shouted as they charged toward the water.

"Forget about them!" Garithos bellowed. His pikemen encircled the elves. "So, Kael, you've shown your true colors at last. I knew you were in league with those serpents. Now I have all the proof I need to execute every traitorous one of you!"

"Execute? You wouldn't dare!" Tenris cried.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Garithos said. "Tell me, who will miss a few dozen elves? No one, that's who!"

"Lor'themar Theron —"

"We'll simply tell anyone who asks that you disregarded a direct order and cost hundreds of human lives."

"That's not true!" Kael said. "We've done nothing for months but fight to save human lives!"

"You don't deny that you disobeyed a direct order, though, do you? You elves may not understand military discipline, but by the Light, I do."

"Please, milord, spare my people!" Kael begged. "It was my decision to —"

"Save your breath," Garithos said. "I never trusted you vainglorious elves. It was a mistake to accept you into the Alliance in the first place. Now, at long last, you'll be dealt with appropriately. Take them away!"

.

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_Next Chapter: Jail, jailbreak, and the entry into Outland._

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A big thank you once again to my beta **Bryn**, herder of large ideas and small bits of punctuation, and to **Stinger** for being a reliable source of military knowledge.

I have used as much _Warcraft III_ dialogue in this chapter as I could. There are places where I added/interposed lines, but other than Kael and Vashj's conversation about magic addiction, the original lines appear verbatim as spoken by their WC3 speakers.

I am hoping to get the next chapter out in less than two months. I swear!

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First post 20 June 2015; rev 6 July 2015


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